University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

From  the  book  collection  of 
BERTRAND  H.  BRONSON 

bequeathed  by  him 
or  donated  by  his  wife 

Mildred  S.  Bronson 


GERALDINE, 


A    SEQUEL 


TO 


COLERIDGE'S   CHRISTABEL 


WITH 


OTHER    POEMS. 


t  i 


BY 

MARTIN  FARQUHAR  TUPPER,  ESQ.,  M.  A. 

AUTHOR  OF  'PROVERBIAL  PHILOSOPHY,'  'CROCK  OF  GOLD,'  ETC. 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED    BY    SAXTON   &   KELT, 

No.  133  Washington  Street. 

NEW  YORK: 
SAXTON  &  MILES ;    SAXTON  &  HUXTIXGTOX. 

1846. 


Boston : 

Printed  by  S.  N.  Dickinson  &  Co. 

No.  52  Washington  St 


PREFACE, 


INCLUDING   A    SKETCH    OF    CHRISTABEL, 


The  Christabel  of  Coleridge  is  a  poem  of  which  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  give  shortly  a  fair  and  perfect  abstract. 
Every  word  tells ;  every  line  is  a  picture :  simple,  beautiful, 
and  imaginative,  it  retains  its  hold  upon  the  mind  by  so 
many  delicate  feelers  and  touching  points,  that  to  outline 
harshly  the  main  branches  of  the  tree,  would  seem  to  be 
doing  the  injustice  of  neglect  to  the  elegance  of  its  foliage, 
and  the  microscopic  perfection  of  every  single  leaf.  Those 
who  now  read  it  for  the  first  time,  will  scarcely  be  disposed 
to  assent  to  so  much  praise ;  but  the  man  to  whom  it  is 
familiar,  will  remember  how  it  has  grown  to  his  own  liking, 
how  much  of  melody,  depth,  nature,  and  invention,  he  has 
found  from  time  to  time  hiding  in  some  simple  phrase,  or 
unobtrusive  epithet.  Most  gladly,  therefore,  do  I  refer  my 
A* 


VI  PREFACE. 

readers  to  the  Christabel  itself,  however  it  may  tell  to  the 
disadvantage  of "  Geraldine :  at  the  same  time,  inasmuch  as 
there  may  be  many  to  whom  the  sequel  will  be  obscure,  from 
having  had  no  opportunity  of  perusing  the  prior  poem,  I 
trust  I  shall  be  pardoned,  if,  in  consulting  the  interest  of 
some  of  my  readers,  I  mar  the  fair  memory  of  Christabel 
by  a  sketch  so  imperfect,  as  only  to  serve  the  purpose  of 
explaining  myself. 

The  heroine  of  Coleridge  is  a  'blue  eyed'  girl,  'O  call 
her  fair,  not  pale;'  and  is  introduced  as  'praying  in  the 
midnight  wood,'  'beneath  the  huge  oak-tree,'  'for  the  weal 
of  her  lover  that 's  far  away.'  While  thus  engaged,  she  is 
startled  by  'moanings,'  and  on  the  'other  side  of  the  oak,' 
finds  'a  damsel  bright'  'in  sore  distress'  and  'weariness;* 
in  fact,  the  dark-eyed  Geraldine,  whose  sudden  appearance 
is  by  herself  very  suspiciously  explained.  Christabel,  '  com- 
forting' her,  takes  her  home  to  Langdale-Hall,  the  castle  of 
Sir  Leoline,  where  the  howl  of  'the  mastiff  bitch'  seems  to 
bode  evil,  and  some  wild  expressions  addressed  by  Geraldine 
to  Christabel's  'guardian  spirit,'  her  dead  mother,  (who  had 
'  said  that  she  should  hear  the  castle-bell  strike  twelve  upon 
her  [daughter's]  wedding  day,')  gives  the  first  clue  to  the 
wicked  and  supernatural  character  of  Geraldine.  The  maid- 
ens now  retiring  to  rest  together,  the  beautiful  stranger's 
'bosom  and  half  her  side,' — 'old'  'and  cold,'  surest  va<nie 


PREFACE.  Vll 

alarms,  and  'for  an  hour'  Christabel  in  'her  arms'  is  ' dream- 
in  o-  fearfully,'  —  from  which  state  of  terror  she  is  delivered 
by  her  guardian  mother. 

The  second  part  opens  with  the  introduction  of  Geraldine 
to  Sir  Leoline,  who  recognizes  in  'the  lofty  lady,'  the 
daughter  of  his  once  'friend  in  youth'  'Roland  de  Vaux, 
of  Tryermaine,'  who  had  parted  from  Sir  Leoline  many 
years  ago  'in  disdain  and  insult.'  At  her  tale,  (which  I 
am  pleased  to  consider  a  fabrication,  as  also  the  likeness  to 
Roland's  daughter  to  be  a  piece  of  witchcraft,)  the  Baron  is 
highly  indignant,  and  vows  to  avenge  '  the  child  of  his 
friend.'  Meanwhile,  poor  Christabel  is  under  a  mysterious 
spell,  subjected  to  'perplexity  of  mind,'  'a  vision  of  fear/ 
and  'snake-like  looks'  of  the  rival  beaut v:  albeit  'com- 
forted'  by  a  'vision  blest.'  Sir  Leoline,  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity of  a  reconciliation  to  his  long-lost  friend,  sends  '  Bracy 
the  bard,'  with  'harp'  and  'solemn  vest,'  by  'lrt-(hing) 
flood,'  &c,  to  Roland's  border  castle,  commissioning  him  to 
'greet  Lord  Roland,'  acquaint  him  that  'his  daughter  is  safe 
in  Lansrdale-Hall,'  and  bidding  him  'come'  with  'all  his 
numerous  array '  to  meet  Sir  Leoline  '  with  his  own  numer- 
ous array'  on  'panting  palfreys,'  and  to  be  friends  once 
more.  '  Bard  Bracy '  hesitates,  on  account  of  having  dreamt 
that  Christabel  —  'the  dove'  —  had  'a  green  snake'  'coiled 
around  its  wings  and  neck,'  '  underneath  the  old  tree ; '  and 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

having  'vowed'  'with  music  strong  and  saintly  song,'  to 
exorcise  the  forest.  The  Baron  interprets  it  as  of  'Lord 
Roland's  beauteous  dove,'  and  when  Christabel,  who  had 
ever  and  anon  been  tortured  by  '  looks  askance '  of  '  dull  and 
treacherous  hate,'  entreats  him  by  her  'mother's  soul  to  send 
away  that  woman,'  he,  accounting  'his  child'  jealous  of  the 
radiant  stranger,  and  no  doubt  alienated  by  black  arts  from 
his  daughter,  as  the  lover  is  afterwards,  seems  full  of  wrath, 
and  'in  tones  abrupt,  austere,'  sends  the  reluctant  Bracy 
on  his  mission. 

Thus  far  Christabel :  for  the  '  Conclusion  to  part  the 
second,'  however  beautiful  in  itself,  is  clearly  out  of  place, 
unless  it  was  intended  as  a  mystification. 

And  now,  on  my  own  portion,  I  may  be  permitted  to 
make  a  few  remarks.  My  excuse  for  continuing  the  frag- 
ment at  all,  will  be  found  in  Coleridge's  own  words  to  the 
preface  of  the  1816  pamphlet  edition,  where  he  says,  'I 
trust  that  I  shall  be  able  to  embody  in  verse  the  three  parts 
yet  to  come,  in  the  course  of  the  present  year:'  a  half- 
promise,  which,  I  need  scarcely  observe,  has  never  been 
redeemed. 

In  the  following  attempt  I  may  be  censured  for  rashness, 
or  commended  for  courage  :  of  course,  I  am  fully  aware  that 
to  take  up  the  pen  where  Coleridge  has  laid  it  down,  and 
that  in  the  wildest  and  most  original  of  his  poems,  is  a  most 


PREFACE.  IX 

difficult,  nay,  dangerous  proceeding ;  but,  upon  these  very 
characteristics  of  difficulty  and  danger  I  humbly  rely;  trust- 
ing that,  in  all  proper  consideration  for  the  boldness  of  the 
experiment,  if  I  be  adjudged  to  fail,  the  fall  of  Icarus  may 
be  broken,  if  I  be  accounted  to  succeed^  the  flight  of  Daeda- 
lus may  apologize  for  his  presumption. 

I  deem  it  due  to  myself  to  add  what  I  trust  will  not  be 
turned  against  me  ;  viz.  that,  if  not  written  literally  currente 
calamo,  Grraldine  has  been  the  pleasant  labour  of  but 
very  few  days  :  also,  that  until  I  had  just  completed  it,  I  did 
not  know  of  the  existence  of  the  proposed  solution  of  Christ- 
abel  in  a  recent  life  of  Coleridge,  and  at  that  period  saw  no 
reason  to  make  any  change  in  mine  :  and  finally,  that  I 
should  wish  to  be  judged  by  the  whole  volume,  and  not  by 
Geraldixe  alone. 

M.  F.  T. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

GERALDIXE,  PART  I. 3 

GERALDIXE,  PART  II. 19 

GERALDINE,  PART  III. 37 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

IMAGINATION', 55 

THE   ALPINE   ELF, 63 

DREAMS, 66 

INFANT   CHRIST  "WITH  FLOWERS, 68 

PAST,   PRESENT,   AND   FUTURE, 70 

THE   MUMMIED   TULIP, 71 

CRUELTY, 78 

CHILDREN, 83 

THREE    SONNETS   ON    "PROVERBIAL  PHILOSOPHY," 86 

MONSIEUR   D'ALYERON, 89 

93 


WISDOM  S   WISH, 


THE   MOTHER  S   LAMENT, 


96 


TRUST, 99 

FLOWERS, 101 

WEDDING-GIFTS, 103 

MARRIAGE, 105 

A  GLIMPSE   OF  PARADISE, 106 

A  DEBT   OF  LOYE, 107 

TO    LITTLE   ELLIN, 10S 

TO   LITTLE   MARY, 109 

DAYS   GONE  BY, 110 


Xii  CONTENTS. 


?AGE 

THE   CRISIS, * 112 

CHARITY, 113 

TO  KLOPSTOCK, 116 

THE    FORSAKEN,   ....*■*.•' 117 

THE    STAMMERER'S   COMPLAINT, 119 

BENEVOLENCE, 1-4 

A   CABINET    OP   FOSSILS, ' I29 

THE    MAST   OF   THE   VICTORY, 133 

THE    SOULS    OF   BRUTES, « 137 

THE    CHAMOIS-HUNTER, ' 145 

NATURE   AND   ART, ' 15° 

CHEERFULNESS    AND   MALICE, ' 152    \ 

HOME  J    LIGHT    AND    SHADOW, 154 

THEORY   AND    PRACTICE, 156 

RICHES   AND   POVERTY, 158 

LIGHT   AND    DARKNESS, 16° 

POETRY   AND   PROSE, 162 

FRIENDSHIP   AND    EN3IITY. 164 


PHILANTHROPY   AND   MISANTHROPY, 166 

COUNTRY   AND    TOAVN, 168 

WORLDLY   AND   WORTHY, 170 

LIBERALITY   AND    MEANNESS, 172 

ANCIENT  AND   MODERN, 174 

SPIRIT   AND    MATTER, 176 

LIFE    AND    DEATH, 178 

ELLEN    GRAY, 1 80 

THE   AFRICAN   DESERT, 189 

THE   SUTTEES, 202 

CARMEN  SiECULARE, 211 

CONCLUSION, 216 


GERALDINE. 


PART  I. 


GERALDINE. 


PART  I. 
(being-  the  third  oe  christabel.) 

It  is  the  wolf,  on  stealthy  prowl, 

Hath  startled  the  night  with  a  dismal  howl, 

It  is  the  raven,  whose  hoarse  croak 

Comes  like  a  groan  from  the  sear  old  oak, 

It  is  the  owl,  whose  curdling  screech 

Hath  peopled  with  terrors  the  spectral  beech ; 

For  again  the  clock  hath  toll'd  out  twelve, 

And  sent  to  their  gambols  the  gnome  and  the  elve, 

And  awoken  the  friar  his  beads  to  tell, 

And  taught  the  magician  the  time  for  his  spell, 


GERALDINE. 

And  to  her  cauldron  hath  hurried  the  witch, 
And  arous'd  the  deep  bay  of  the  mastiff  bitch. 

The  gibbous  moon,  all  chilling  and  wan, 
Like  a  sleepless  eyeball  looketh  on, 
Like  an  eyeball  of  sorrow  behind  a  shroud 
Forth  looketh  she  from  a  torn  grey  cloud, 
Pouring  sad  radiance  on  the  black  air, — 
Sun  of  the  night,  —  what  sees  she  there? 

O  lonely  one,  O  lovely  one, 
What  dost  thou  here  in  the  forest  dun, 
Fair  truant,  —  like  an  angel  of  light 
Hiding  from  heaven  in  deep  midnight  ? 
Alas  !  there  is  guilt  in  thy  glittering  eye 
As  fearfully  dark  it  looks  up  to  the  sky, 
Alas  !  a  dull  unearthly  light 
Like  a  dead  star,  bluely  white, 
A  seal  of  sin,  I  note  it  now, 
Flickers  upon  thy  ghastly  brow; 
And  about  the  huge  old  oak 
Thickly  curls  a  poisonous  smoke, 
And  terrible  shapes  with  evil  names 


GEE.ALDINE. 

Are  leaping  around  a  circle  of  flames, 
And  the  tost  air  whirls,  storm-driven, 
And  the  rent  earth  quakes,  charm-riven,  — 
And  —  art  thou  not  afraid  ? 

All  dauntless  stands  the  maid 
In  mystical  robe  array' d, 
And  still  with  flashing  eyes 
She  dares  the  sorrowful  sides, 
And  to  the  moon,  like  one  possest, 

Hath  shown,  —  O  dread !  that  face  so  fair 
Should  smile  above  so  shrunk  a  breast, 

Haggard  and  brown,  as  hangeth  there,  — 

O  evil  sight !  —  wrinkled  and  old, 

The  dug  of  a  witch,  and  clammy  cold,  — 

"Where  in  warm  beauty's  rarest  mould 

Is  fashioned  all  the  rest ; 

O  evil  sight !  for,  by  the  light 

From  those  large  eyes  streaming  bright, 

By  thy  beauty's  wondrous  sheen, 

Lofty  gait  and  graceful  mien, 

By  that  bosom  half  reveal'd, 

Wither'd,  and  as  in  death  congeal' d, 
1# 


GERALDINE. 

By  the  guilt  upon  thy  brow, 
Ah !  Geraldine,  'tis  thou ! 

Muttering  wildy  through  her  set  teeth, 

She  seeketh  and  stirreth  the  demons  beneath, 

And  —  hist !  —  the  magical  mandate  is  spoken, 

The  bonds  of  the  spirits  of  evil  are  broken, 

There  is  a  rush  of  invisible  wings 

Amid  shrieks,  and  distant  thunderings, 

And  now  one  nearer  than  others  is  heard 

Flapping  this  way,  as  a  huge  seabird, 

Or  liker  the  deep-dwelling  ravenous  shark 

Cleaving  through  the  waters  dark. 

It  is  the  hour,  the  spell  hath  power ! 
Now  haste  thee,  e'er  the  tempest  lour. 

Her  mouth  grows  wide,  and  her  face  falls  in, 
And  her  beautiful  brow  becomes  flat  and  thin, 
And  sulphurous  flashes  blear  and  singe 
That  sweetest  of  eyes  with  its  delicate  fringe, 
Till,  all  its  loveliness  blasted  and  dead, 
The  eye  of  a  snake  blinks  deep  in  her  head; 


GERALDINE. 


For  raven  locks  flowing  loose  and  long 
Bristles  a  red  mane,  stiff  and  strong, 
And  sea-green  scales  are  beginning  to  speck 
Her  shrunken  breasts,  and  lengthening  neck ; 
The  white  round  arms  are  sunk  in  her  sides,  - 

As  when  in  chrysalis  canoe 
A  may-fly  down  the  river  glides, 

Struggling  for  life  and  liberty  too, — 
Her  body  convulsively  twists  and  twirls. 
This  way  and  that  it  bows  and  curls, 
And  now  her  soft  limbs  melt  into  one 
Strangely  and  horribly  tapering  down, 
Till  on  the  burnt  grass  dimly  is  seen 
A  serpent-monster,  scaly  and  green, 
Horror !  —  can  this  be  Gerald ine  ? 

Haste,  O  haste,  —  'tis  almost  past, 
The  sand  is  dripping  thick  and  fast ; 
And  distant  roars  the  coming  blast. 

Swiftly  the  dragon-maid  unroll' d 
The  burnished  strength  of  each  sinewy  fold, 
And  round  the  old  oak  trunk  with  toil 
Hath  wound  and  trailed  each  tortuous  coil, 


8  GERALD  INE. 

Then  with  one  crash  hath  splitten  and  broke 
To  the  hollow  black  heart  of  the  sear  old  oak. 

The  hour  is  fled,  the  spell  hath  sped ; 
And  heavily  dropping  down  as  dead, 
All  in  her  own  beauty  drest, 
Brightest,  softest,  loveliest, 
Fair  faint  Geralcline  lies  on  the  ground, 

Moaning  sadly ; 
And  forth  from  the  oak 
In  a  whirl  of  thick  smoke 

Grinning  gladly, 
Leaps  with  a  hideous  howl  at  a  bound 
A  squat  black  dwarf  of  visage  grim, 
With  cratches  beside  each  twisted  limb 
Half  hidden  in  many  a  flame-cloured  rag,  — 

It  is  Ryxa  the  Hag ! 

Ho,  ho  !  what  wouldst  thou,  daughter  mine, 
Wishes  three,  or  curses  nine  ? 
Wishes  three  to  work  thy  will, 
Or  curses  nine  thy  hate  to  fulfil  ? 


GERALDINE.  9 

Ryxa,  spite  of  thy  last  strong  charm, 
Some  pure  spirit  saves  from  harm 
Her,  who  before  me  was  loved  too  well, 
Our  holy  hated  Christabel ; 
Her  who  stole  my  heart  from  him, 
One  of  the  guardian  cherubim, 
Hovers  around,  and  cheers  in  dreams, 
Thwarting  from  heaven  my  hell-bought  schemes: 
Now,  —  for  another  five  hundred  years, 

O  mother  mine,  will  I  be  thine, 
To  writhe  in  pains,  and  shriek  in  fears, 
And  toil  in  chains,  and  waste  in  tears, 
So  thy  might  will  scorch  and  smite 
The  beautiful  face  of  Christabel, 
And  will  drain  by  jealous  pain 

Love  from  the  heart  of  Christabel, 
And  her  own  betrothed  knight, 
O  glad  sight !  shall  scorn  and  slight 

The  pale  one  he  hath  loved  so  well, 
While  in  my  arms,  by  stolen  charms 
And  borrowed  mien,  for  Geraldine 
He  shall  forget  his  Christabel. 


10  GERALDINE. 

It  is  done,  it  is  done,  thy  cause  is  won ! 

Quoth  Ryxa  the  Hag  to  Geraldine ; 
Thus  have  I  priest  my  seal  on  thy  breast, 
Twelve  circling  scales  from  a  dragon's  crest, 
And  still  thy  bosom  and  half  thy  side 
Must  shrivel  and  sink  at  eventide, 
And  still,  as  every  Sabbath  breaks, 
Thy  large  dark  eyes  must  blink  as  a  snake's. 
Now,  for  mine  aid :  —  De  Vaux  doth  come 
To  lead  his  seeming  daughter  home, 
Therefore  I  fit  thee  a  shape  and  a  face 
Differing,  yet  of  twin -born  grace, 
That  all  who  see  thee  may  fall  down 
Heart-worshippers  before  thy  throne, 
Forgetting  in  that  vision  sweet 
Thy  former  tale  of  dull  deceit, 
And  tranc'd  in  deep  oblivious  joy 
Bask  in  bliss  without  alloy : 
He  too,  thou  lovest,  in  thine  arms, 
Shall  grace  the  triumph  of  thy  charms, 
"While  thy  thirsty  rage  thou  satest 
In  the  woes  of  her  thou  hatest. 
Yet,  daughter,  hark !  my  warning  mark ! 


GEE.ALDINE.  11 

Hallowed  deed,  or  word  or  thought, 

Is  with  deadliest  peril  fraught ; 

And  if,  where  true  lovers  meet 

Thou  nearest  hymning  wild  and  sweet, 

O  stop  thine  ears,  lest  all  be  marr'd,  — 

Beware,  beware  of  holy  bard ! 

For  that  the  power  of  hymn  and  harp 

Thine  innermost  being  shall  wither  and  warp, 

And  the  same  hour  they  touch  thine  ears, 

A  serpent  thou  art  for  a  thousand  years. 

Hush !  how  heavily  droops  the  night 

In  sultry  silence,  calm  as  death ; 
Gloomy  and  hot,  and  yet  no  light, 

Save  where  the  glowworm  wandereth, 
For  the  moon  hath  stolen  by, 
Mantled  in  the  stormy  sky, 
And  there  is  a  stillness  strange, 
An  awful  stillness,  boding  change, 
As  if  live  nature  holds  her  breath, 
And  all  in  agony  listeneth 
Some  terror  undefin'd  to  hear 
Coming,  coming,  coming  near  ! 


12  GERALDINE. 

Hush'cl  is  the  beetle's  drowsy  hum, 
And  the  death-watch's  roll  on  his  warning  drum, 
Hush'd  the  raven,  and  screech  owl, 
And  the  famishing  wolf  on  his  midnight  prowl,  — 
Silent  as  death. 

Hark,  hark !  he  is  here,  he  has  come  from  afar, 

The  black-rob' d  storm  in  his  terrible  car ; 

Vivid  the  forked  light'ning  flashes, 

Quick  behind  the  thunder  crashes, 

Clattering  hail,  a  shingly  flood, 

Rattles  like  grape-shot  in  the  wood ; 

And  the  whole  forest  is  bent  one  way, 

Blowing  as  slaves  to  a  tyrant's  sway, 

While  the  foot  of  the  tempest  hath  trampled  and 

broke 
Many  a  stout  old  elm  and  oak. 

And  Geraldine  ?  —  O  who  could  tell 
That  thou  who  by  sweet  Christabel 
Softly  liest  in  innocent  sleep, 
Like  an  infant's  calm  and  deep, 


GERALDINE.  13 

Smiling  faintly,  as  it  seems 

From  thy  bright  and  rosy  dreams, 

Who  could  augur  thou  art  she 

That  around  the  hollow  tree, 

With  bad  charm  and  hellish  rite 

Shook  the  heaVns,  and  scar'd  the  night  ? 

Alas  !  for  gentle  Christabel, 
Alas  !  for  wasting  Christabel ; 
From  evil  eye,  and  powers  of  hell, 
And  the  strong  magic  of  the  spell, 
Holy  Mary,  shield  her  well ! 


14  GERALDINE. 


CONCLUSION  TO  PART  I 

The  murderer's  knife  is  a  fearful  thing, 

But  what,  were  it  eclg'd  with  a  scorpion's  sting  ? 

A  dagger  of  glass  hath  death  in  its  stroke, 

But  what,  should  venom  gush  out  as  it  broke  ? 

And  hatred  in  a  man's  deep  heart 

Festereth  there  like  the  barb  of  a  dart, 

Maddening  the  fibres  at  every  beat, 

And  filling  its  caverns  with  fever-heat ; 

But  jealous  rage  in  a  woman's  soul 

Simmers  and  steams  as  a  poison-bowl : 

A  drop  were  death,  but  the  rival  maid 

Must  drain  all  dry,  e'er  the  passion  be  staid : 

It  floodeth  the  bosom  with  bitterest  gall, 

It  drowneth  the  young  virtues  all, 

And  the  sweet  milk  of  the  heart's  own  fountain, 

Chok'd  and  crush' d  by  a  heavy  mountain, 

All   curdled,   and    hardened,    and   blackened,   doth 

shrink 
Into  the  sepia's  stone-bound  ink ; 


GERALDINE.  15 

The  eye  of  suspicion  deep  sunk  in  the  head 

Shrinks  and  blinks  with  malice  and  dread, 

And  the  cheek  without  and  the  heart  within 

Are  blistered  and  blighted  with  searing  sin, 

Till  charity's  self  no  more  can  trace 

Aught  that  is  lovely  in  feature  or  face, 

But  the  rose-bud  is  canker' d,  and  shall  not  bloom, 

Corruption  hath  scented  the  rich  perfume, 

The  angel  of  light  is  a  demon  of  gloom, 

And  the  bruise  on  his  brow  is  the  seal  of  his  doom. 

All !  poor  unconscious  rival  maid, 

How  drearily  must  thou  sicken  and  fade 

In  the  foul  air  of  that  Up  as -shade  ! 

Her  heart  must  be  tried,  and  trampled,  and  torn 
With  fear,  and  care,  and  slander,  and  scorn ; 
Her  love  must  look  upon  love  estranged, 
Her  eye  must  meet  his  eye,  how  changed, 
Her  hand  must  take  his  hand  impressing, 
Her  hope  must  die,  without  confessing ; 
And  still  she  '11  strive  her  love  to  smother, 
Wliile  in  the  triumphs  of  another 


16  GERALDINE. 

The  shadow  of  her  joys  departed 
Shall  scare  and  haunt  her  broken-hearted ; 
And  he,  who  once  lov'd  her,  his  purest,  Ins  first, 
Must  hate  her  and  hold  her  defil'd  and  accurst, 
Till  wasted  and  desolate,  calumny's  breath 
Must  taint  with  all  guilt  her  innocent  death. 


END    OF    PART    I. 


GERALDINE. 


PART  II. 


2* 


« 


19 


PART  II 

(being  the  fourth  op  christabel.) 

How  fresh  and  fair  is  morn ! 

The  clewbeads  dropping  bright 
Each  humble  flower  adorn, 

With  coronets  beclight, 
And  jewel  the  rough  thorn 

With  tiny  globes  of  light  — 
How  beautiful  is  morn  ! 

Her  scatter' d  gems  how  bright ! 

There  is  a  quiet  gladness 

In  the  waking  earth, 
Like  the  face  of  sadness 

Lit  with  chasten' d  mirth ; 


20  GERALDINE. 

There  is  a  mine  of  treasure 

In  those  hours  of  health, 
Filling  up  the  measure 

Of  creation's  wealth. 

The  eye  of  day  hath  opened  grey, 

And  the  gallant  sun 
Hath  trick'd  his  beams  by  Rydal's  streams, 

And  waveless  Coniston ; 
From  Langdale  Pikes  his  glory  strikes, 

From  heath  and  giant  hill, 
From  many  a  tairn,  and  stone -built  cairn, 

And  many  a  mountain  rill : 
Helvellyn  bares  his  forehead  black, 
And  Eagle-crag,  and  Saddleback, 
And  Skiddaw  hails  the  dawning  day 
And  rolls  his  robe  of  clouds  away. 

Ho,  warder,  ho  !  in  chivalrous  state, 
A  stranger-knight  to  the  castle  gate 
With  trumpet,  and  banner,  and  mailed  men, 
Comes  this  way  winding  up  the  glen  : 


GERALDINE.  21 

His  vizor  is  down,  and  he  will  not  proclaim 
To  the  challenge  within  his  lineage  or  name, 
Yet  by  his  herald,  and  esquires  eight, 
And  five-score  spearmen,  tall  and  straight, 
And  blazon  rich  with  bearings  rare, 
And  highbred  ease,  and  noble  air, 
And  golden  spurs,  and  sword,  can  he  be 
Nought  but  a  knight  of  high  degree. 

Alas  !  they  had  loved  too  soon,  too  well, 

Young  Amador  and  Christabel ; 

Life's  dawn  beheld  them,  blythe  and  bland 

Little  playmates,  hand  in  hand, 

Over  fell  and  field  and  heather 

Wandering  innocent  together, 

Alone  in  childhood's  rosy  hours 

Straymg  far  to  find  wild  flowers ; 

Life's  sun  above  its  eastern  hill 

Saw  them  inseparable  still 

In  the  bower,  or  by  the  brook, 

Or  spelling  out  the  monkish  book, 

Or  as  with  songs  they  wont  to  wake 

The  echoes  on  the  hill-bound  lake, 


22  GER.ALDINE. 

Or  as  with  tales  to  while  away 

The  winter's  night,  or  summer's  day; 

Life's  noon  was  blazing  bright  and  fair, 

To  smile  upon  the  same  fond  pair, 

The  handsome  youth,  the  beauteous  maid, 

Together  still  in  sun  or  shade : 

"Warmer,  good  sooth,  than  wont  with  friends, 

While  he  supports,  and  she  depends, 

As  to  some  dangerous  craggy  height 

They  climb  with  terror  and  delight, 

Nor  guess  that  the  strange  joy  they  feel, 

The  rapture  making  their  hearts  reel, 

Springs  from  aught  else  than  —  sweet  Grasmere, 

Or  hill  and  valley  far  and  near, 

Or  Derwent's  banks,  and  glassy  tide, 

Lowdore,  or  hawthorn'd  Ambleside  : 

Nor  reck  they  what  dear  danger  lies 

In  gazing  on  each  other's  eyes ; 

On  her  bright  cheek,  fresh  and  fair, 

Blooming  in  the  mountain  air, 

On  his  form,  and  agile  limbs, 

As  from  rock  to  rock  he  climbs, 


GERALDINE.  23 


Her  unstudied  natural  grace, 
Loosen'd  vest  and  tresses  flowing, 

Or  his  fine  and  manly  face 
With  delighted  ardour  glowing. 

Thus  they  grew  up  in  each  other, 

Till  to  ripened  youth 
They  have  grown  up  for  each  other; 

Yet,  to  say  but  sooth, 
She  had  not  lov'd  him,  as  other 

Than  a  sister  doth, 
And  he  to  her  was  but  a  brother, 

With  a  brother's  troth : 
But  selfish  craft,  that  slept  so  long, 
And,  if  wrong  were,  had  done  the  wrong, 
Now,  just  awake,  with  dull  surprise 

Read  the  strange  truth, 
And  from  their  own  accusing  eyes 

Condemned  them  both, — 
That  they,  who  only  for  each  other 

Gladly  drew  their  daily  breath, 
Now  must  curb,  and  check,  and  smother 

Through  all  life,  love  strong  as  death ; 


24  GERALDINE. 

While  the  dear  hope  they  just  have  learnt  to  prize, 

And  fondly  cherish, 
The  hope  that  in  their  hearts  deep-rooted  lies, 

Must  pine  and  perish : 
For  the  slow  prudence  of  the  worldly  wise 
In  cruel  coldness  still  denies 
The  fondling  youth  to  woo  and  win 
The  heiress  daughter  of  Leoline. 

And  yet  how  little  had  he  err'd, 
That  on  his  ear  the  bitter  -word 

Of  harsh  reproach  should  fall,  — 
"  Is  it  then  thus,  ungrateful  boy, 
"  Thou  wouldst  his  dearest  hope  destroy 

"  Who  lent  thee  life  and  all  ? 
"  Why  did  I  save  thee,  years  agone, 
"  Beneath  the  tottering  Bowther-stone 

"  An  infant  weak  and  wan? 
"  Why  did  I  warm  thee  on  my  hearth, 
"  Nor  crush  the  viper  in  its  birth, 

"  O  thou  presumptuous  one  ?  " 


GEItALDINE.  25 

They  met  once  more  in  sweet  sad  fear 

At  the  old  oak-tree  in  the  forest  drear, 

And,  as  enamonr'd  of  bitterness,  they 

Wept  the  sad  hour  of  parting  away. 

The  bursting  tear,  the  stifled  sob, 

The  tortur'd  bosom's  first-felt  throb, 

The  fervent  vow,  the  broken  gold, 

Their  hapless  hopes  too  truly  told ; 

For,  alas  !  till  now  they  never  had  known 

How  deep  and  strong  their  loves  had  grown, 

But  just  as  they  sip  the  full  cup  of  the  heart, 

It  is  dashed  from  the  lip,  —  and  they  must  part : 

Alas !  they  had  loved,  yet  never  before 

The  wealth  of  love  had  counted  o'er, 

And  just  as  they  find  the  treasure  so  great, 

It  is  lost,  it  is  sunk  in  the  billows  of  fate. 

Yea,  it  must  be  with  a  fearful  shock 

That  the  pine  can  be  torn  from  its  root-clasp'd 

rock, 
Or  the    broad    oak-stump   as   it   stands   on  the 

farm 
Be  rent  asunder  by  strength  of  arm  ; 
3 


26  GERALDINE. 

So,  when  the  cords  of  love  are  twin'd 

Among  the  fibres  of  the  mind, 

And  kindred  souls  by  secret  ties 

Mingle  thoughts  and  sympathies, 

O  what  a  wrench  to  tear  in  twain 

Those  that  are  lov'd  and  love  again, 

To  drag  the  magnet  from  its  pole, 

To  chain  the  freedom  of  the  soul, 

To  freeze  in  ice  desires  that  boil, 

To  root  the  mandrake  from  the  soil 

With  groans,  and  blood,  and  tears,  and  toil ! 

He  is  gone  to  the  land  of  the  holy  war, 

The  sad,  the  brave  young  Amador, 

Not  to  return, — by  Leoline's  oath, 

When  all  in  wrath  he  bound  them  both, 

Not  to  return,  —  by  that  last  kiss, 

Till  name  and  fame,  and  fortune  are  his. 

Aye,  he  is  gone  :  —  and  with  him  went, 

As  into  chosen  banishment, 

The  bloom  of  her  cheek,  and  the  light  of  her  eye, 

And  the  hope  of  her  heart,  so  near  to  die : 


GERALDINE.  27 

He  is  gone  o'er  Paynim  lands  to  roam, 

But  leaves  Ins  heart,  Ins  all,  at  home  : 

And  years  have  glided,  day  by  clay, 

To  watch  him  warring  far  away, 

Where,  upon  Gideon's  hallowed  banks, 

His  prowess  hath  scatter' d  the  Saracen  ranks, 

And  the  Lion-king  with  his  own  right  hand 

Hath  dubb'd  him  knight  of  Holy  Land : 

The  crescent  wan'd  where'er  he  came, 

And  Christendom  rung  with  his  glorious  fame, 

And  Saladin  trembled  at  the  name 

Of  Amador  de-Kamothaim. 

He  hath  won  him  in  battle  a  goodly  shield, 
Three  wild-boars  Or  on  an  azure  field, 
While  scallop-shells  three  on  an  argent  fess 
Proclaim  him  a  pilgrim  and  knight  no  less  ; 
Enchased  in  gold  on  his  hemlet  of  steel 
A  deer-hound  stands  on  the  high-plumed  keel, 
Hafiz  his  hound,  who  hath  rescued  his  life 
From  the  wily  Assassin's  secret  knife, 
Hafiz  his  friend,  whom  he  loveth  so  well 
As  the  last  gift  of  Christabel : 


28  GERALDINE. 

And  over  his  vizor,  and  round  his  arm, 
And  grav'd  on  his  sword  as  a  favorite  charm, 
And  on  his  banner  emblazon'd  at  length, 
Love's  motto,  "  hope  is  all  my  strength." 

Oh  then  with  how  much  pride  and  joy 
And  hope,  which  fear  could  scarce  alloy, 
"With  heart  how  leaping,  eye  how  bright, 
And  fair  cheek  flush' d  with  deep  delight, 
Heard  Christabel  the  wafted  story 
Of  her  far-off  lover's  glory  ! 

For  her  inmost  soul  knew  well 
That  he  hoped  and  spake  and  thought 

Only  of  his  Christabel, 
That  he  liv'd  and  lov'd  and  fought 

Only  for  his  Christabel : 
So  she  felt  his  honour  her's, 
His  welfare  her's,  his  being  her's, 

And  did  reward  with  rich  largesse 
The  stray  astonish' d  messengers 

Who  brought  her  so  much  happiness. 


GERALDINE.  29 

Behold !  it  is  past,  — that  many  a  year ; 
The  harvest  of  her  hope  is  near  ; 
Behold  !  it  is  come,  —  behold  him  here  ! 
Yes,  in  pomp  and  power  and  pride, 
And  joy  and  love  how  true,  how  tried, 
He  comes  to  claim  Ins  long-lov'd  bride  ; 
Her  own  true  knight,  O  bliss  to  tell, 
Her  Amador  she  loves  so  well 
Returns  for  Iris  sweet  Christabel ! 

He  leapt  the  moat,  the  portal  past, 
He  flung  him  from  his  horse  in  haste, 

And  in  the  hall 
He  met  her !  —  but  how  pale  and  wan  !  — 
He  started  back,  as  she  upon 

His  neck  would  fall ; 
He  started  back,  —  for  by  her  side 
(O  blessed  vision  !)  he  espied 

A  thing  divine,  — - 
Poor  Christabel  was  lean  and  white, 
But  oh,  how  soft,  and  fair,  and  bright, 

Was  Geraldine  ! 

Fairer  and  brighter,  as  he  gazes 

All  celestial  beauty  blazes 
3* 


30  GERALDINE. 

From  those  glorious  eyes, 
And  Amador  no  more  can  brook 
The  jealous  air  and  peevish  look 

That  in  the  other  lies ! 

Alas,  for  wasting  Christabel, 

Alas,  for  stricken  Christabel,  — 

How  had  she  long'd  to  see  this  day, 

And  now  her  all  is  dash'd  away ! 

How  many  slow  sad  years,  poor  maid, 

Had  she  for  this  day  wept  and  pray'd, 

And  now  the  bitterest  tears  destroy 

That  honied  hope  of  cherish' d  joy, 

For  he  hath  ceas'd, —  O  withering  thought, 

With  burning  anguish  fully  fraught,  — 

To  love  his  Christabel ! 
Her  full  heart  bursts,  and  she  doth  fall 
Unheeded  in  her  father's  hall, 
And,  oh,  the  heaviest  stroke  of  all ! 

By  him  she  loves  so  well. 

O  save  her,  Mary  Mother,  save  ! 
Let  not  the  damned  sorceress  have 


GERALDINE.  31 


Her  evil  will ; 
O  save  thine  own  sweet  Christabel, 
Thy  saint,  thine  innocent  Christabel, 

And  guard  her  still ! 


CONCLUSION  TO  PART  II 

For  it  doth  mark  a  godlike  mind, 
Prudence,  and  power,  and  truth  combin'd, 
A  rare  self- steering  moral  strength, 
To  over-love  the  dreary  length 
Of  ten  successive  anxious  years, 
Unwarp'd  by  hopes,  untir'd  by  fears  ; 
Still,  as  every  teeming  hour 
Glides  away  in  sun  or  shower, 
Though  the  pilgrim  foot  may  range, 
The  heart  at  home  to  feel  no  change, 
But  to  live  and  linger  on, 
Fond  and  warm  and  true  —  to  one  ! 


o 


2  GERALOINE. 

0  love  like  this,  in  life's  young  spring, 
Is  a  rare  and  precious  thing ; 
A  pledge  that  man  hath  claims  above, 
A  sister-twin  to  martyrs'  love, 
A  shooting-star  of  blessed  light 
Dropt  upon  the  world's  midnight, 
A  drop  of  sweet,  where  all  beside 
Is  bitterest  gall  in  life's  dull  tide, 
One  faithful  found,  where  all  was  lost, 
An  Abdiel  in  Satan's  host. 

To  love,  unshrinking  and  unshaken, 

Albeit  by  all  but  hope  forsaken, 

To  love,  through  slander,  craft  and  fear, 

And  fairer  faces  smiling  near, 

Through  absence,  stirring  scenes  among, 

And  harrowing  silence,  suffering  long, 

Still  to  love  on,  —  and  pray  and  weep 

For  that  dear  one,  while  others  sleep, 

To  dwell  upon  each  precious  word 

Which  the  charm' d  ear  in  whispers  heard, 

To  treasure  up  a  lock  of  hair, 

To  watch  the  heart  with  jealous  care, 


GERALDINE.  3 

To  live  on  a  remembered  smile, 

And  still  the  wearisome  days  beguile 

With  rosy  sweet  imaginings, 

And  all  the  soft  and  sunny  things 

Look'd  and  spoken,  e'er  they  parted, 

Full  of  hope,  though  broken-hearted,  — 

O  there  is  very  virtue  here, 

Retiring,  holy,  deep,  sincere, 

A  self-pois'd  virtue,  working  still 

To  compass  good,  and  combat  ill, 

Which  none  but  worldlings  count  earth-born, 

And  they  who  know  it  not,  can  scorn. 

Ah  yes,  let  common  sinners  jeer, 
And  Mammon's  slaves  suspect  and  sneer, 
While  each  idolater  of  pelf, 
Judging  from  Ins  gross-hearted  self, 
Counts  Love  no  purer  and  no  higher 
Than  the  low  plot  of  base  desire  ;  — 
Let  worldly  craft  nurse  its  false  dreams 
Of  happiness,  from  selfish  schemes 
By  heartless  hungry  parents  plann'd, 
Of  wedded  fortune,  rank  and  land,  — 


.-.■> 


34  GERALDINE. 

There  is  more  wisdom,  and  more  wealth, 
More  rank  in  being,  more  soul's  health, 
In  wedded  love  for  one  short  hour, 
Than  endless  wedded  pelf  and  power  : 
Yes,  there  is  virtue  in  these  things ; 
A  balm  to  heal  the  scorpion-stings 
That  others'  sins  and  sorrows  make 
In  hearts  that  still  can  weep  and  ache  ; 
There  is  a  heavenly  influence, 
A  secret  spiritual  fence, 
Circling  the  soul  with  present  power 
In  temptation's  darkest  hour, 
Walling  it  round  from  outward  sin, 
While  all  is  soft  and  pure  within. 


END    OF    PART    II. 


GERALDINE. 


PART  III. 


37 


PART  III 

(being  the  fifth  and  last  of  christajbel.) 

Hast  thou  not  seen,  world-weary  man, 
Life's  poor  pilgrim  white  and  wan,  — 
A  gentle  beauty  for  the  cheek 

Which  nothing  gives  but  sorrow, 
A  sweet  expression,  soft  and  weak, 

Joy  can  never  borrow  ? 
Where  lingering  on  the  pale  wet  face 
The  rival  tears  run  their  slow  race 

Each  in  its  wonted  furrow ; 
And  patience,  eloquently  meek, 

From  the  threaten' d  stroke  unshrinking, 
In  mild  boldness  can  but  speak 

The  burden  of  its  sadden'd  thinking,  — 
4 


38  GERALDINE. 

"  Dreary  as  to-day  has  been, 
"  And  sad  and  cheerless  yestereen, 
"  'T  will  dawn  as  dark  to-morrow ! " 

Desolate-hearted  Christabel, 
Hapless,  hopeless  Christabel,  — 
Nightly  tears  have  dimm'd  the  lustre 

Of  thy  blue  eyes,  once  so  bright, 
And,  as  when  dank  willows  cluster 

Weeping  over  marble  rocks, 
O'er  thy  forehead  white 

Droop  thy  flaxen  locks  : 
Yet  art  thou  beautiful,  poor  girl, 

As  angels  in  distress, 
Yea,  comforting  the  soul,  sweet  girl, 

With  thy  loveliness ; 
For  thy  beauty's  light  subdued 

Hath  a  soothing  charm 
In  sympathy  with  all  things  good 

That  weep  for  hate  and  harm ; 
And  none  can  ever  see  unmoved 

Thy  poor  wet  face,  with  sorrow  white, 
O  none  have  seen,  who  have  not  loved 

The  sadly  sweet  religious  light 


GERALDINE.  39 

That  doth  with  pearly  radiance  shine 
From  those  sainted  eyes  of  thine  ! 

A  trampling  of  hoofs  at  the  cullice-port, 
A  hundred  horse  in  the  eastle-conrt ! 
From  border-wastes,  a  weary  way, 

Through  Halegarth  wood  and  Knorren  moor, 
A  mingled  nnmerons  array, 
On  panting  palfreys  black  and  grey, 

With  foam  and  mud  bespattered  o'er, 
Hastily  cross  the  flooded  Irt, 
And  rich  Was  water's  beauty  shirt, 
And  Sparkling- Tairn,  and  rough  Scathwaite, 
And  now  that  day  is  dropping  late, 
Have  passed  the  drawbridge  and  the  gate. 

By  thy  white  flowing  beard,  and  reverend  mien, 
And  gilded  harp,  and  chaplet  of  green, 
And  milk-white  mare  in  the  castle-yard, 
Welcome,  glad  welcome  to  Bracy  the  bard ! 
And,  —  by  thy  struggle  still  to  hide 
This  generous  conquest  of  thy  pride, 


40  GERALDINE. 

More  than  by  yon  princely  train, 
And  blazon'd  banner  standing  near, 

And  snorting  steed  with  slacken' d  rein, 
Hail,  O  too  long  a  stranger  here, 

Hail,  to  Langdale's  friendly  hall, 

Thou  noble  spirit,  most  of  all, 

Roland  de  Vaux  of  Tryermaine  ! 

Like  aspens  tall  beside  the  brook 

The  stalwarth  warriors  stood  and  shook, 

And  each  advancing  fear'd  to  look 

Into  the  other's  eye  ; 
'Tis  fifty  years  ago  to-day 
Since  in  disdain  and  passion  they 
Had  flung  each  other's  love  away 

With  words  of  insult  high : 
How  had  they  long'd  and  pray'd  to  meet ! 
But  memories  cling  ;  and  pride  is  sweet ; 
And  —  which  could  be  the  first  to  greet 

The  haply  scornful  other  ? 
What  if  De  Vaux  were  haughty  still,  — 
Or  Leoline's  unbridled  will 
Consented  not  his  rankling  ill 

In  charity  to  smother  ? 


GERALDINE.  41 

Their  knees  give  way,  their  faces  are  pale, 

And  lonclly  beneath  the  corslets  of  mail, 

Their  aged  hearts  in  generous  heat 

Almost  to  bursting  boil  and  beat ; 

The  white  lips  quiver,  the  pulses  throb, 

They  stifle  and  swallow  the  rising  sob,— 

And  there  they  stand,  faint  and  unmann'd, 

As  each  holds  forth  his  bare  right  hand ! 

Yes,  the  mail-clad  warriors  tremble, 

All  miable  to  dissemble 

Penitence  and  love  confest, 

As  within  each  aching  breast 

The  flood  of  affection  grows  deeper  and  stronger 

Till  they  can  refrain  no  longer, 

But  with,  —  "  Oh,  my  long-lost  brother  !  "  — 

To  their  hearts  they  clasp  each  other, 

Vowing  in  the  face  of  heaven 

All  forgotten  and  forgiven ! 

Then  the  full  luxury  of  grief 
That  brings  the  smothered  soul  relief, 
Within  them  both  so  fiercely  rushed 
That  from  their  vanquish' d  eyes  out-gushed 
4* 


42  GERALDINE. 

A  tide  of  tears,  as  pure  and  deep 
As  children,  yea  as  cherubs  weep ! 

Quoth  Roland  de  Vaux  to  Sir  Leoline ; 
"  No  lady  lost  can  be  daughter  of  mine, 
For  yestereen  at  this  same  hour 
My  Geraldine  sat  in  her  latticed  bower, 
And  merrily  marvelled  much  to  hear 
She  had  been  found  in  the  forest  drear : 
Nathless,  of  thee,  old  friend,  to  crave 
Once  more  the  love  I  long  to  have 
E'er  yet  I  drop  into  the  grave, 

Behold  me  here  ! 
I  hail'd  the  rich  offer,  and  hither  I  sped 
Glad  to  reclaim  our  friendship  fled, 
And  see  that  face,  —  e'er  yet  it  be  dead,  — 

I  feel  so  dear ; 
And  my  old  heart  danc'd  with  the  joy  of  a  child 
When  out  of  school  he  leaps  half- wild 
To  think  he  could  be  reconcil'd." 

"  Thy  tale  is  strange,"  quoth  Leoline, 
"  As  thy  return  is  sweet ; 


GERALDINE.  4 

Yet  might  it  please  thee,  brother  mine, 

In  knightly  sort  to  greet 
This  wondrous  new-found  Geraldine, 
For  sure  she  is  a  thing  divine 
So  bright  in  her  doth  beauty  shine 

From  head  to  feet, 
Yea,  sure  she  is  a  thing  divine, 

For  angels  meet." 

O  glorious  in  thy  loveliness  ! 
Victorious  in  thy  loveliness  ! 
From  what  strong  magnetic  zone, 
Circling  some  strange  world  unknown, 
Hast  thou  stolen  sweet  influence 
To  lull  in  bliss  each  ravished  sense  ? 
That  thine  eyes  rain  light  and  love 
Kindlier  than  the  heavens  above,  — 
That  the  sunshine  of  thy  face 
Shows  richly  ripe  each  winning  grace,  — 
That  thine  innocent  laughing  dimple, 
And  thy  tresses  curling  simple, 
Thy  soft  cheek,  and  rounded  arm, 
And  foot  unsandalled,  white  and  warm, 
And  every  sweet  luxurious  charm, 


o 


44  GERALDINE. 

Fair,  and  full,  and  flush' d,  and  bright, 
Fascinate  the  dazzled  sight 
As  with  a  halo  of  delight  ? 

Her  beauty  hath  conquer' d  :  a  sunny  smile 

Laughs  into  goodness  her  seeming  guile. 

Aye,  was  she  not  in  mercy  sent 

To  heal  the  friendships  pride  had  rent  ? 

Is  she  not  here  a  blessed  saint 

To  work  all  good  by  subtle  feint  ? 

Yea,  art  thou  not,  mysterious  dame, 

Our  Lady  of  Furness  ?  —  the  same,  the  same  ! 

O  holy  one,  we  know  thee  now, 

O  gracious  one,  before  thee  bow, 

Help  us,  Mary,  hallowed  one, 

Bless  us,  for  thy  wondrous  Son  — 

The  name  was  half-spoken,  —  the  spell  was  half 

broken,  — 
And  suddenly,  from  his  bent  knee 

Upleapt  each  knight  in  fear, 
All  warily  they  look'd  around, 
Sure,  they  had  heard  a  hissing  sound, 


GERALDINE.  45 

And  one  quick  moment  on  the  ground 

Had  seen  a  dragon  here  ! 
But  now  before  their  wildered  eyes 
Bright  Geraldine,  all  sweet  surprise, 
With  her  fair  hands  in  courteous  guise 
Hath  touch' d  them  both,  and  bade  them  rise ; 
Alas,  kind  sirs,  she  calmly  said, 
I  am  but  a  poor  hunted  maid, 
Hunted,  ah  me  !  and  sore  afraid, 
That  all  too  far  from  home  have  stray'd, 
For  love  of  one  who  flies  and  hates  me, 
For  hate  of  one  who  loves  and.  waits  me. 

Wonder  stricken  were  they  then, 
And  full  of  love,  those  ancient  men, 
Full-fired  with  guilty  love,  as  when 

In  times  of  old 
To  young  Susannah's  fairness  knelt 
Those  elders  twain,  and  foully  felt 
The  lava-streams  of  passion  melt 

Their  bosoms  cold : 
They  loved,  —  they  started  from  the  floor, — 
But,  hist !  within  the  chamber-door 


46  GERALDINE. 

Softly  stole  Sir  Amador;  — 

Nor  look'd,  nor  wondered  as  they  passed, 

( Speeding  by  in  shame  and  haste, 

Meekly  thinking  of  each  other 

As  a  weak  and  guilty  brother,) 

For  all  to  him  in  that  dark  room, 

All  the  light  to  pierce  its  gloom, 

All  he  thought  of,  car'd  for,  there, 

Was  that  loved  one,  smiling  fair, 

Wondrous  in  her  charms  divine, 

Glad  and  glorious  Geraldine. 

The  eye  of  a  hawk  is  fierce  and  bright 
As  a  facet- cut  diamond  scattering  light, 
Soft  and  rayed  with  invincible  love 
As  a  pure  pearl  is  the  eye  of  a  dove; 
And  so  in  flashes  quick  and  keen 
Look'd  Amador  on  Geraldine, 
And  so  in  sweet  subduing  rays, 
On  Amador  did  fondly  gaze, 
In  gentle  power  of  beauty's  blaze, 
Imperial  Geraldine. 


GERALDINE.  47 

His  head  is  cushioned  on  her  breast, 

Her  dark  eyes  shed  love  on  his, 
And  his  changing  cheek  is  prest 

By  her  hot  and  thrilling  kiss, 
While  again  from  her  moist  lips 
The  honeydew  of  joy  he  sips, 
And  views,  with  rising  transport  warm, 
Her  half-unveil' d  bewitching  form  — 

A  step  on  the  threshold  !  —  the  chamber  is  dim, 

And  gliding  ghost-like  up  to  him, 

"While  entranced  in  conscious  fear 

He  feels  an  injured  angel  near, 

Sad  Christabel  with  wringing  hands 

Beside  her  faithless  lover  stands, 

Sad  Christabel  with  streaming  eyes 

In  silent  anguish  stands  and  sighs. 

Ave,  Maria  !  send  her  aid, 

Bless,  oh  bless  the  wretched  maid ! 

It  is  done,  —  he  is  won  !  —  stung  with  remorse 
He  hath  dropt  at  her  feet  as  a  clay- cold  corse, 


48  GERALDINE. 

And  Christabel  with  trembling  dread 
Hath  rais'cl  on  her  knee  his  pale  dear  head, 
And  bathed  his  brow  with  many  a  tear, 
And  listened  for  his  breath  in  fear, 

t 

And  when  she  thought  that  none  was  near 
But  guardian  saints,  and  God  above, 
Set  on  his  lips  the  seal  of  her  love  ! 

But  Geraldine  had  watch' d  that  kiss, 

And  with  involuntary  hiss, 

And  malice  in  her  snake -like  stare, 

She  gnashed  her  teeth  on  the  loving  pair 

And  shed  on  them  both  a  deadly  glare. 

Softly  through  the  sounding  hall 

In  rich  melodious  notes, 
With  many  a  gentle  swell  and  fall, 

Holy  music  floats, 
Like  gossamer  in  a  sultry  sky, 
Dropping  low,  or  sailing  high : 
Bard  Bracy,  bard  Bracy,  that  touch  was  thine 

On  Cambria's  harp  with  triple  strings, 
Wild  and  sweet  is  the  hymn  divine, 

Fanning  the  air  like  unseen  wings  ; 


GERALDINE.  49 

Thy  hand,  good  Bracy,  thine  alone 
Can  wake  so  sad,  so  sweet  a  tone, 
Nought  but  the  magic  of  thy  touch 
Can  charm  so  well,  and  cheer  so  much, 
And  wondrously,  with  strong  controul, 
Rouse  or  lull  the  passive  soul. 

What  aileth  thee,  O  Geraldine  ? 

Why  waileth  Lady  Geraldine  ? 

Thy  body  convuls'd  groweth  lank  and  lean, 

Thy  smooth  white  neck  is  shrivell'd  and  green, 

Thine  eyes  are  blear'd  and  sunk  and  keen, 

O  dreadful !  art  thou  Geraldine  ?  — 

The  spell  is  dead,  the  charm  is  o'er, 
Writhing  and  coiling  on  the  floor 
Awhile  she  curl'd  in  pain,  and  then  was  seen  no 
more. 


50 


CONCLUSION  TO  PART  III. 

Sweet  Christabel,  my  Christabel, 
I  have  riven  thy  heart  that  loved  so  well : 
Oh  weak,  O  wicked,  to  rend  in  its  home 
The  love  that  I  cherish  wherever  I  roam  ! 

As  when  with  his  glory  the  morning  sun 

Floods  on  a  sudden  the  tropical  sky, 
And  startled  twilight,  dim  and  dun, 

Flies  from  the  fear  of  his  conquering  eye, 
So  flash' d  across  the  lighten'd  breast 

Of  Christabel,  no  more  to  moan, 
A  dawn  of  love,  the  happiest 

Her  maiden  heart  had  ever  known ; 
For  sure  it  was  only  through  powers  of  hell, 
And  evil  eye,  and  potent  spell, 
That  Amador  to  Christabel 

Could  faithless  prove,  — 
And  when  she  saw  him  kneeling  near 
Contrite,  yet  more  in  hope  than  fear, 


GERALDINE.  51 

Oh  then  she  felt  him  doubly  dear, 
Her  rescued  love  ! 

Ave,  Maria  !  unto  thee 

All  the  thanks  and  glory  be, 

For  thy  gracious  arm  and  aid 

Saved  the  youth,  and  blest  the  maid. 

So  falls  it  out,  that  vanquish' d  ill 

Breeds  only  good  to  good  men  still, 

And  while  its  poison  seethes  and  works 

It  yields  a  healing  antidote, 

"Which,  whether  mortals  use  or  not, 

Like  a  friend  in  ambnsh,  lurks 

Deepest  in  the  deadliest  plot. 

Not  swift,  though  soon,  next  day  at  noon, — 

Just  at  the  wedding-hour 
As  hancl-in-hand  betroth'd  they  stand 

Beneath  the  chapel  tower, 
A  holy  light,  —  a  vision  bright,  — 

'T  was  twelve  o'clock  at  noon, 
A  spirit  good  before  them  stood, 
Her  garments  fair  and  flowing  hair 

Shone  brighter  than  the  moon. 


52  GERALDINE. 

And  thus  in  musical  voice  most  sweet,  — 
"  Daughter,  this  hour  to  grace  and  greet, 
To  bless  this  day,  as  is  most  meet, 

Thy  mother  stoops  from  heaven : 
And,  ancient  men,  who  all  so  late 
Have  stopp'd  at  Death's  half-opened  gate, 
In  tears  of  love  to  drown  your  hate, 

Forgiving  and  forgiven, 
Hear,  noble  spirits   reconcil'd, 
Hear,  gracious  souls,  now  meek  and  mild 
Albeit  with  guilt  so  long  defil'd, 

Love's  lingering  boon  receive ; 
Roland  de  Vaux,  —  thy  long-lost  child, 
Whom  border-troopers,  fierce  and  wild, 
An  infant  from  his  home  begnil'd, 

Thy  soul  to  gall  and  grieve, 
In  Amador  —  behold !  " 

The  spirit  said,  and  all  in  light 
Melted  away  that  vision  bright : 
My  tale  is  told. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


5# 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


IMAGINATION. 

Thou  fair  enchantress  of  my  willing  heart, 

Who  charmest  it  to  deep  and  dreamy  slumber, 

Gilding  mine  evening  clouds  of  reverie, — 

Thon  lovely  Siren,  who,  with  still  small  voice 

Most  softly  musical,  dost  lure  me  on 

O'er  the  wide  sea  of  indistinct  idea, 

Or  quaking  sands  of  untried  theory, 

Or  ridgy  shoals  of  fixt  experiment 

That  wind  a  dubious  pathway  through  the  deep, 

Imagination,  I  am  thine  own  child : 

Have  I  not  often  sat  with  thee  retired, 

Alone  yet  not  alone,  though  grave  most  glad, 


56  IMAGINATION. 

All  silent  outwardly,  but  loud  within, 
As  from  the  distant  hum  of  many  waters, 
Weaving  the  tissue  of  some  delicate  thought, 
And  hushing  every  breath  that  might  have  rent 
Our  web  of  gossamer,  so  finely  spun  ? 
Have  I  not  often  listed  thy  sweet  song, 
( "While  in  vague  echoes  and  JEolian  notes 
The  chambers  of  my  heart  have  answered  it,) 
With  eye  as  bright  in  joy,  and  fluttering  pulse, 
As  the  coy  village  maiden's,  when  her  lover 
Whispers  his  hope  to  her  delighted  ear  ? 

And  taught  by  thee,  angelic  visitant, 
Have  I  not  learnt  to  love  the  tuneful  lyre, 
Draining  from  every  chord  its  musical  soul  ? 
Have  I  not  learnt  to  find  in  all  that  is, 
Somewhat  to  touch  the  heart,  or  raise  the  mind, 
Somewhat  of  grand  and  beautiful  to  praise 
Alike  in  small  and  great  things  ?  and  this  power, 
This  clearing  of  the  eye,  this  path  made  straight 
Even  to  the  heart's  own  heart,  its  innermost  core, 
This  keenness  to  perceive,  and  seek  and  find 
And  love  and  prize  all-present  harmony, 


IMAGINATION.  57 

This,    more    than   choosing    words   to   clothe    the 

thought, 
Makes  the  true  poet ;  this  thy  glorious  gift, 
Imagination,  rescues  me  thy  son 
(Thy  son,  albeit  least  worthy,)  from  the  lust 
Of  mammon,  and  the  cares  of  animal  life, 
And  the  dull  thraldom  of  this  work-day  world. 

Indulgent  lover,  I  am  all  thine  own ; 

What  art  thou  not  to  me  ?  —  ah,  little  know 

The  worshippers  of  cold  reality, 

The  grosser  minds,  who  most  sincerely  think 

That  sense  is  the  broad  avenue  to  bliss, 

Little  know  they  the  thrilling  ecstacy, 

The  delicate  refinement  in  delight, 

That  cheers  the  thoughtful  spirit,  as  it  soars 

Far  above  all  these  petty  things  of  life ; 

And  strengthened  by  the  flight  and  cordial  joys, 

Can  then  come  down  to  earth  and  common  men 

Better  in  motive,  stronger  in  resolve, 

Apter  to  use  all  means  that  compass  good, 

And  of  more  charitable  mind  to  all. 

Imagination,  art  thou  not  my  friend 


58  IMAGINATION. 

In  crowds  and  solitude,  my  comrade  dear, 
Brother,  and  sister,  mine  own  other  self, 
The  Hector  to  my  souls  Andromache  ? 

Triumphant  beauty,  bright  intelligence  ! 
The  chastened  fire  of  ecstacy  suppressed 
Beams  from  thine  eye  ;  because  thy  secret  heart, 
Like  that  strange  sight  burning  yet  unconsumed, 
Is  all  on  flame  a  censer  filled  with  odours, 
And  to  my  mind,  who  feel  thy  fearful  power, 
Suggesting  passive  terrors  and  delights, 
A  slumbering  volcano  :  thy  dark  cheek, 
Warm  and  transparent,  by  its  half-formed  dimple 
Be  veals  an  under- world  of  wondrous  things 
Bipe  in  their  richness,  —  as  among  the  bays 
Of  blest  Bermuda,  through  the  sapphire  deep 
Buddy  and  white  fantastically  branch 
The  coral  groves  :  thy  broad  and  sunny  brow, 
Made  fertile  by  the  genial  smile  of  heaven, 
Shoots  up  an  hundred  fold  the  glorious  crop 
Of  arabesque  ideas  ;  forth  from  thy  curls 
Half  hidden  in  their  black  luxuriance 


IMAGINATION.  59 

The  twining  sister-graces  lightly  spring, 

The  muses,  and  the  passions,  and  young  love, 

Tritons  and  Naiads,  Pegasus,  and  Sphinx, 

Atlas,  Briareus,  Phaeton,  and  Cyclops, 

Centaurs,  and  shapes  uncouth,  and  wild  conceits  : 

And  in  the  midst  blazes  the  star  of  mind, 

Drumming  the  classic  portico 

That  leads  to  the  high  dome  where  Learning  sits  : 

On  either  side  of  that  broad  sunny  brow 

Flame-coloured  pinions,  streaked  with  gold  and  blue, 

Burst  from  the  teeming  brain  ;  while  under  them 

The  forked  lightning,  and  the  cloud-robed  thunder, 

And  fearful  shadows,  and  unhallowed  eyes, 

And  strange  foreboding  forms  of  terrible  things 

Lurk  in  the  midnight  of  thy  raven  locks. 

And  thou  hast  been  the  sunshine  to  my  landscape, 

Imagination  ;  thou  hast  wreathed  me  smiles, 

And  hung  them  on  a  statue's  marble  lips  ; 

Hast  made  earth's  dullest  pebbles  bright  like  gems  ; 

Hast  lent  me  thine  own  silken  clue,  to  rove 

The  ideal  labyrinths  of  a  thousand  spheres ; 


60  IMAGINATION. 

Hast    lengthened    out    my    nights   with    life-long 

dreams, 
And  with  glad  seeming  gilt  my  darkest  day ; 
Helped  me  to  scale  in  thought  the  walls  of  heaven 
While  journeying  wearily  this  busy  world; 
Sent  me  to  pierce  the  palpable  clouds  with  eagles, 
And  with  leviathan  the  silent  deep  ; 
Hast  taught  my  youthful  spirit  to  expand 
Beyond  himself,  and  live  in  other  scenes, 
And  other  times,  and  among  other  men ; 
Hast  bid  me  cherish,  silent  and  alone, 
First  feelings,  and  young  hopes,  and  better  aims, 
And  sensibilities  of  delicate  sort, 
Like  timorous  mimosas,  which  the  breath, 
The  cold  and  cautious  breath  of  daily  life 
Hath  not  as  yet  had  power  to  blight  and  kill 
From   my  heart's  garden ;  for  they  stand  retired, 
Screened    from   the    north  by    groves    of    rooted 

thought. 

Without  thine  aid,  how  cheerless  were  all  time, 
But  chief  the  short  sweet  hours  of  earliest  love  ; 
When  the  young  mind,  athirst  for  happiness, 


IMAGINATION.  61 

And  all- exulting  in  that  new-found  treasure, 

The  wealth  of  being  loved,  as  well  as  loving, 

Sees   not,   and    hears   not,  knows   not,  thinks   not, 

speaks  not, 
Except  it  be  of  her,  his  one  desire  ; 
And  thy  rose-coloured  glass  on  every  scene 
With  more  than  earthly  promise  cheats  the  eye, 
While  the  charm' d  ear  drinks  thy  melodious  word-, 
And  the  heart  reels,  drunk  with  ideal  beauty. 
So  too  the  memory  of  departed  joy, 
Walking  in  black  with  sprinkled  tears  of  pearl, 
Passes  before  the  mind  with  look  less  stern 
And  foot  more  lightened,  when  thine  inward  power, 
Most  gentle  friend,  upon  that  clouded  face 
Sheds  the  fair  light  of  better  joy  to  come, 
And  throws  round  Grief  the  azure  scarf  of  Hope. 

As  the  wild  chamois  bounds  from  rock  to  rock, 
Oft  on  the  granite  steeples  nicely  poised, 
Unconscious  that  the  cliff  from  which  he  hangs 
Was  once  a  fiery  sea  of  molten  stone, 
Shot  up  ten  thousand  feet  and  crystallized 


62  IMAGINATION. 

When  earth  was  labouring  with  her  kraken  brood ; 

So  have  I  sped  with  thee,  my  bright-eyed  love, 

Imagination,  over  pathless  wilds, 

Bounding  from  thought  to  thought,  unmindful  of 

The  fever  of  my  soul  that  shot  them  up 

And  made  a  ready  footing  for  my  speed, 

As  like  the  whirlwind  I  have  flown  along 

Winged  with  ecstatic  mind,  and  carried  away, 

Like  Ganymede  of  old,  o'er  cloudcapt  Ida, 

Or  Alps,  or  Andes,  or  the  ice-bound  shores 

Of  Arctic  or  Antarctic,  —  stolen  from  earth 

Her  sister-planets  and  the  twinkling  eyes 

That  watched  her  from  afar,  to  the  pure  seat 

Of  rarest  Matter's  last  created  world, 

And  brilliant  halls  of  self- existing  Light. 


63 


THE   SONG  OF  AN  ALPINE  ELF. 

Ha  ha  ha  !  —  My  coy  Jungfra 

Is  tall  and  robed  in  snow, 
Yet  at  a  leap  to  the  cloudy  steep 

I  bound  from  the  glen  below ; 
On  her  dizziest  peak  I  sit  and  shriek 

To  the  winds  that  around  me  blow, 
And  heard  from  afar  is  my  ha  ha  ha ! 

The  wild  laugh  echoes  so. 

In  the  forest  dun  round  Lauterbrunn 
That  line  each  dark  ravine, 

I  hide  me  away  from  the  garish  day 
Till  the  howling  winter's  e'en  ; 


64  THE    SONG    OF    AN    ALPINE    ELF. 

Then  I  jump  on  high  through  the  coal-black  sky, 

And  light  on  some  cliff  of  snow- 
That  nods  to  its  fall  like  a  tottering  wall, 
And  I  rock  it  to  and  fro' ! 

My  summer's  home  is  the  cataract's  foam 

As  it  floats  in  a  frothing  heap, 
My  winter's  rest  is  the  weasel's  nest, 

Or  deep  with  the  mole  I  sleep : 
I  ride  for  a  freak  on  the  lightning- streak, 

And  mingle  among  the  clouds 
My  swarthy  form  with  the  thunder-storm, 

Wrapped  in  its  sable  shrouds. 

Often  I  launch  the  huge  avalanche, 

And  make  it  my  milk-white  sledge 
When  unappall'd  to  the  Grindlewald 

I  slide  from  the  Shrikehorn's  edge : 
Silent  and  soft  to  the  ibex  oft 

I  have  stolen,  and  hurried  him  o'er 
The  precipice  to  the  bristling  ice 

That  smokes  with  his  scarlet  gore. 


THE    SONG    OF    AN    ALPINE    ELF.  65 

But  my  greatest  joy  is  to  lure  and  decoy 

To  the  chasm's  slippery  brink 
The  hunter  bold,  when  he 's  weary  and  old, 

And  there  let  him  suddenly  sink,  — 
A  thousand  feet  —  dead !  — he  dropped  like  lead, 

Ha,  he  could  n't  leap  like  me ; 
With  broken  back,  as  a  felon  on  rack, 

He  hangs  in  a  split  pine-tree. 

And  there  mid  his  bones,  that  echoed  with  groans, 

I  make  me  a  nest  of  his  hair ; 
The  ribs  dry  and  white  rattle  loud  as  in  spite 

When  I  rock  in  my  cradle  there  : 
Hurrah,  hurrah,  and  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

I'm  in  a  merry  mood, 
For  I'm  all  alone  in  my  palace  of  bone, 
That 's  tapestried  fair  with  the  old  man's  hair, 

And  dappled  with  clots  of  blood; 

And  when  I  look  out  all  around  and  about, 

The  storm  shouts  high  to  the  coal-black  sky, 

And  the  icicle  sleet  falls  thick  and  fleet, 

And  all  that  I  hear  on  the  mountains  drear 

And  all  I  behold  in  the  vallies  cold, 

Is  death  and  solitude. 
6* 


66 


DREAMS. 

A  dream  —  mysterious  word,  a  dream! 

What  joys  and  sorrows  are  enshrin'd 
In  those  still  hours  we  fondly  deem 

A  playtime  for  the  truant  mind : 

It  is  a  happy  thing  to  dream, 

When  rosy  thoughts  and  visions  bright 
Pour  on  the  soul  a  golden  stream 

Of  rich  luxurious  delight : 

It  is  a  weary  thing  to  dream, 
When  from  the  hot  and  aching  brain, 

As  from  a  boiling  cauldron,  steam 
The  myriad  forms  in  fancy's  train. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  to  dream, 

When  shapes  grotesque  of  all  quaint  things 
Like  laughing  water-witches  seem 

To  sport  in  reason's  turbid  springs  : 


67 


DREAMS. 

It  is  a  glorious  thing  to  dream, 

When  full  of  wings  and  full  of  eyes, 

Born  on  the  whirlwind  or  sun-beam, 
We  race  along  the  startled  skies : 

It  is  a  wondrous  thing  to  dream 
Of  tumbling  with  a  fearful  shock 

From  some  tall  cliff  where  eagles  scream, 
—  To  light  upon  a  feather  rock : 

It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  dream 

Of  strangled  throats  and  heart-blood  spilt, 
And  ghosts  that  in  the  darkness  gleam, 

And  horrid  eyes  of  midnight  guilt. 


I  love  a  dream,  I  dread  a  dream ; 

Sometimes  all  bright,  and  full  of  gladness, 
But  othertimes  my  brain  will  teem 

With  sights  that  urge  the  mind  to  madness. 


68 


INFANT  CHRIST,  WITH  A  WREATH  OF 

FLOWERS. 

FROM  A  PICTURE   BY   CORREGGIO. 

Yes,  —  I  can  fancy,  in  the  spring 
Of  childhood's  sunny  hours, 

That  nature's  infant  priest  and  king 
Lov'd  to  gaze  on  flowers  : 

For  lightly,  mid  the  wreck  of  all 
When  torn  from  Eden's  bowers, 

Above  the  billows  of  the  fall 
Floated  gentle  flowers. 

Unfallen,  sinless,  undenTd, 

Fresh  bathed  in  summer  showers, 

What  wonder  that  the  holy  child 
Lov'd  to  play  with  flowers  ? 


INFANT    CHRIST.  69 

In  these  he  saw  his  Father's  face, 

All  Godhead's  varied  powers, 
And  joy'd  each  attribute  to  trace 

In  sweet  unconscious  flowers ; 

In  these  he  found  where  Wisdom  hides 

And  modest  Beauty  cowers, 
And  where  Omnipotence  resides 

And  Tenderness, — in  flowers. 

Innocent  child,  a  little  while, 

E'er  yet  the  tempest  lours, 
Bask  thy  young  heart  in  Nature's  smile, 

Her  lovely  smile  of  flowers  ; 

Thy  young  heart, — is  it  not  arrayed 

In  feelings  such  as  ours  ?  — 
Yes,  being  now  of  thorns  afraid, 

I  see  thee  crowned  with  flowers. 


70 


PAST,  PRESENT  AND   FUTURE. 

A  sad,  sweet  gladness,  full  of  tears, 
And  thoughts,  that  never  cloy, 

Of  careless  childhood's  happier  years, 
Is  memory's  tranquil  joy. 

A  rapturous  and  delusive  dream 

Of  pleasures,  ne'er  to  be, 
That  o'er  life's  troubled  waters  gleam, 

Is  Hope's  sweet  reverie. 

Yet,  before  Memory  can  look  back, 
When  Hope  is  lost  in  sight, 

Ah !  where  is  Memory's  fairy  track, 
Ah  !  where  is  Hope's  delight  ? 

The  present  is  a  weary  scene 

And  always  wish'd  away ; 
"We  live  on  "  to  be,"  and  "has  been," 

But  never  on  "  to-day." 


71 


ON  A  BULBOUS  BOOT, 

WHICH  BLOSSOMED,  AFTER  HAVING   LAIN  FOR  AGES   IN   THE 
HAND   OP  AN  EGYPTIAN  MUMMY. 

What,  wide  awake,  sweet  stranger,  wide  awake  ? 

And  laughing  coyly  at  an  English  sun, 

And  blessing  him  with  smiles  for  having  thawed 

Thine  icy  chain,  for  having  woke  thee  gently 

From  thy  long  slumber  of  three  thousand  years? 

Methinks  I  see  the  eye  of  wonder  peering 

From  thy  tall  pistil,  looking  strangely  forth 

As  from  a  watch-tow'r  at  thy  fellow-flowers, 

Admiring  much  the  rich  variety 

Of  many  a  gem  in  nature's  jewel-case 

Unknown  to  thee,  — the  drooping  hyacinth, 

The  prim  ranunculus,  and  gay  geranium, 

And  dahlias  rare,  and  hearts-ease  of  all  hues, 

Mealy  auriculas,  and  spotted  lilies, 

Gaudy  carnations,  and  the  modest  face 

Of  the  moss-rose  :  methinks  thy  wondering  leaves 


72  ON    A    BULBOUS    BOOT. 

And  curious  petals  at  the  long-lost  sun 

Gaze  with  a  lingering  love,  bedizen'd  o'er 

With  a  small  firmament  of  eyes  to  catch 

The  luxury  of  his  smile;  as  o'er  the  pool 

Hovering  midway  the  gorgeous  dragon-fly 

"Watches  his  mates  with  thousand-facet  vision  ; 

Or  as  when  underneath  the  waterfall 

Floating  in  sunny  wreaths  the  fretted  foam 

Mirrors  blue  heaven  in  its  million  orbs. 

Methinks  I  see  thy  fair  and  foreign  face 

Blush  with  the  glowing  ardour  of  first  love, 

(Mindful  of  ancient  Nile,  and  those  warm  skies, 

And  tender  tales  of  insect  coquetry,) 

When  some  bright  butterfly  descends  to  sip 

The  exotic  fragrance  of  thy  nectarous  dew : 

Even  so,  Jabal's  daughters  in  old  time 

Welcomed  the   sons   of    God,   who    sprang    from 

heaven 
To  gaze  with  rapture  on  earth's  fairest  creatures, 
And  fan  them  with  their  rainbow- coloured  wings. 

Didst  ever  dream  of  such  a  day  as  this, 

A  day  of  life  and  sunshine,  when  entranced 


ON    A    BULBOUS    ROOT.  73 

In  the  cold  tomb  of  yonder  shrivelled  hand  ? 

Didst  ever  try  to  shoot  thy  fibres  forth 

Through  thy   close    prison-bars,   those    parchment 

fingers, 
And  strive  to  blossom  in  a  charnel-house  ? 
Didst  ever  struggle  to  be  free,  —  to  leap 
From  that  forced  wedlock  with  a  clammy  corpse, — 
To  burst  thy  bonds  asunder,  and  spring  up 
A  thing  of  light  to  commerce  with  the  skies? 
Or  didst  thou  rather,  with  endurance  strong, 
(That  might  have  taught  a  Newton  passive  power,) 
Baffle  corruption,  and  live  on  unharmed 
Amid   the    pestilent    steams    that    wrapped    thee 

round, 
Like  Mithridates,  when  he  would  not  die, 
But  conquered  poison  by  his  strong  resolve? 

O  life,  thy  name  is  mystery,  —  that  couldst 
Thus  energize  inert,  be,  yet  not  be, 
Concentrating  thy  powers  in  one  small  point ; 
Couldst  mail  a  germ,  in  seeming  weakness  strong, 
And  arm  it  as  thy  champion  against  Death ; 
Couldst  give  a  weed,  dug  from  the  common  field, 
7 


74  ON    A    BULBOUS    ROOT. 

What  Egypt  hath  not,  Immortality  ; 

Coulclst  lull  it  off  to  sleep  ere  Carthage  was, 

And  wake  it  up  when  Carthage  is  no  more ! 

It  may  be,  suns  and  stars  that  walked  the  heavens, 

While  thou  wert  in  thy  slumber,  gentle  flower, 

Have   sprung  from   chaos,  blazed    their  age,   and 

burst : 
It  may  be,  that  thou  seest  the  world  worn  out, 
And  lookst  on  meadows  of  a  paler  green, 
Flow'rs  of  a  duskier  hue,  and  all  creation 
Down  to  degenerate  man  more  and  more  dead, 
Than  in  those  golden  hours,  nearest  to  Eden, 
When  mother  earth  and  thou  and  all  were  young. 

And  he  that  held  thee,  —  this  bituminous  shape, 
This  fossil  shell  once  tenanted  by  life, 
This  chrysalis  husk  of  the  poor  insect  man, 
This  leathern  coat,  this  carcase  of  a  soul,  — 
What  was  thy  story,  O  mine  elder  brother  ? 
I  note  thee  now,  swathed  like  a  Milanese  babe, 
But  thine  are  tinctured  grave-clothes,  fathoms  long : 
On  thy  shrunk  breast  the  mystic  beetle  lies 


ON    A    BULBOUS    BOOT.  75 

Commending  thee  to  Earth,  and  to  the  Sun 

Regenerating  all ;  a  curious  scroll 

Full  of  strange  written  lore  rests  at  thy  side  ; 

While  a  quaint  rosary  of  bestial  gods, 

Ammon,  Bubastes,  Thoth,  Osiris,  Apis, 

Aid  Horus  with  the  curl,  Typhon  and  Phthah, 

Amulets  ciphered  with  forgotten  tongues, 

And  charm'd  religious  beads  circle  thy  throat. 

Greatly  thy  children  honored  thee  in  death, 

Aid  for  the  light  vouchsafed  them  they  did  well,  — 

In  that  they  hoped,  and  not  unwisely  hoped, 

Again  in  his  own  flesh  to  see  their  sire ; 

And  their  affection  spared  not,  so  the  form 

They  loved  in  life  might  rest  adorned  in  death. 

But  this  dry  hand,  — was  it  once  terrible 

When  among  warrior  bands  thou  wentest  forth 

With  Pvamses,  or  Sesostris,  yet  again 

To  crush  the  rebel  Ethiop  ?  —  wast  thou  set 

A  taskmaster  to  toiling  Israel 

When  Cheops  or  Cephrenes  raised  to  heaven 

Their  giant  sepulchres? — or  did  this  hand, 

That  lately  held  a  flow'r,  with  murderous  grasp 


76  ON    A    BULBOUS    ROOT. 

Tear  from  the  Hebrew  mother  her  poor  babe 
To  fling  it  to  the  crocodile  ?  —  or  rather 
Wert  thou  some  garden-lover,  and  this  bulb 
Perchance  most  rare  and  fine,  prized  above  gold, 
(As  in  the  mad  world's  dotage  yesterday 
A  tulip-root  could  fetch  a  prince's  ransom,)  — 
"Was  to  be  buried  with  thee,  as  thy  praise, 
Thy  Rosicrucian  lamp,  thine  idol  weed  ?  — 
Perchance,  O  kinder  thought  and  better  hope, 
Some  priest  of  Isis  shrined  this  root  with  thee 
As  nature's  hieroglyphic,  her  half-guess 
Of  glimmering  faith,  that  soul  will  never  die : 
What  emblem  liker,  or  more  eloquent 
Of  immortality,  whether  the  Sphinx, 
Scarab,  or  circled  snake,  or  wide-winged  orb, 
The  azure-coloured  arch,  the  sleepless  eye, 
The  pyramid  four-square,  or  flowing  river, 
Or  all  whatever  else  were  symbols  apt 
In  Egypt's  alphabet,  —  as  thou,  dry  root, 
So  full  of  living  promise  ?  —  yes,  I  see 
Nature's  "  resurgam"  sculptured  there  in  words 
That  all  of  every  clime  may  run  and  read : 
I  see  the  better  hope  of  better  times, 


ON    A    EUtBOUS    ROOT.  77 

Hope  against  hope,  wrapped  in  the  dusky  coats 

Of  a  poor  leek,  —  I  note  glad  tidings  there 

Of  happier  things :  this  imdecaying  corpse 

A  little  longer,  yet  a  little  longer 

Must  slumber  on,  but  shall  awake  at  last ; 

A  little  longer,  yet  a  little  longer,  — 

And  at  the  trumpet's  voice,  shall  this  dry  shape 

Start  up,  instinct  with  life,  the  same  though  changed, 

And  put  on  incorruption's  glorious  garb  : 

Perchance  for  second  death,  —  perchance  to  shine, 

If  aught  of  Israel's  God  he  knew  and  lov'd, 

Brighter  than  seraphs,  and  beyond  the  sun. 


78 


CRUELTY. 

Will  none  befriend  that  poor  dumb  brute, 

"Will  no  man  rescue  him  ?  — 
With  weaker  effort,  grasping,  mute, 

He  strains  in  every  limb  ; 

Spare  him,  O  spare  :  —  he  feels,  —  he  feels ! 

Big  tears  roll  from  his  eyes ; 
Another  crushing  blow  !  —  he  reels, 

Staggers,  —  and  falls,  —  and  dies. 

Poor  jaded  horse,  the  blood  runs  cold 

Thy  guiltless  wrongs  to  see  ; 
To  heav'n,  O  starv'd  one,  lame  and  old, 

Thy  dim  eye  pleads  for  thee. 


CRUELTY.  79 

Thou  too,  O  dog,  whose  faithful  zeal 

Fawns  on  some  ruffian  grim, 
He  stripes  thy  skin  with  many  a  weal, 

And  yet,  — thou  lovest  him. 

Shame  !  that  of  all  the  living  chain 

That  links  creation's  plan, 
There  is  but  one  delights  in  pain, 

The  savage  monarch,  —  man  ! 

O  cruelty,  —  who  could  rehearse 

Thy  million  dismal  deeds, 
Or  track  the  workings  of  the  curse 

By  which  all  nature  bleeds  ? 

Thou  meanest  crime,  —  thou  coward  sin, 

Thou  base,  flint-hearted  vice,  — 
Scorpion  !  —  to  sting  thy  heart  within 

Thyself  shalt  all  suffice ; 

The  merciless  is  doubly  curst, 

As  mercy  is  "  twice  blest ;  " 
Vengeance,  though  slow,  shall  come,  —  but  first 

The  vengeance  of  the  breast. 


80  CRUELTY. 

Why  add  another  woe  to  life, 
Man,  —  are  there  not  enough  ? 

Why  lay  thy  weapon  to  the  strife  ? 
Why  make  the  road  more  rough  ? 

Faint,  hunger-sick,  old,  blind,  and  ill, 

The  poor,  or  man  or  beast, 
Can  battle  on  with  life  uphill, 

And  bear  its  griefs  at  least ; 

Truly,  their  cup  of  gall  o'erflows  ! 

But,  when  the  spite  of  men 
Adds  poison  to  the  draught  of  woes, 

Who,  who  can  drink  it  then  ? 

Heard  ye  that  shriek  ?  —  O  wretch,  forbear, 
Fling  down  thy  bloody  knife : 

In  fear,  if  not  in  pity,  spare 
A  woman,  and  a  wife  ! 

For  thee  she  toils,  unchiding,  mild, 

And  for  thy  children  wan, 
Beaten,  and  starv'd,  —  with  famine  wild, 

To  feast  thee,  selfish  man : 


CRUELTY.  81 

Husband,  and  father,  drunkard,  fiend ! 

Thy  wife's,  thy  children's  moan 
Has  won  for  innocence  a  friend, 

Has  reach' d  thy  Judge's  throne  ; 

Their  lives  thou  madest  sad  ;  but  worse 

Thy  deathless  doom  shall  be, 
"  No  mercy"  is  the  withering  curse 

Thy  Judge  has  passed  on  thee  : 

Heap  on,  —  heap  on,  fresh  torments  add,  — 

New  schemes  of  torture  plan, 
No  mercy  :  Mercy's  self  is  glad 
To  damn  the  cruel  man. 

God !   God  !  thy  whole  creation  groans, 

Thy  fair  world  writhes  in  pain ; 
Shall  the  dread  incense  of  its  moans 

Arise  to  Thee  in  vain  ? 

The  hollow  eye  of  famine  pleads, 

The  face  with  weeping  pale, 
The  heart  that  all  in  secret  bleeds, 

The  grief  that  tells  no  tale, 


82  CRUELTY. 

Oppression's  victim,  weak  and  mild, 
Scarce  shrinking  from  the  blow, 

And  the  poor  wearied  factory  child, 
Join  in  the  dirge  of  woe. 

O  cruel  world  !  O  sickening  fear 
Of  goad,  or  knife,  or  thong ; 

O  load  of  evils  ill  to  bear  ! 
—  How  long,  good  God,  how  long  ? 


83 


CHILDREN. 

Harmless,  happy  little  treasures, 
Full  of  truth,  and  trust,  and  mirth, 

Richest  wealth,  and  purest  pleasures, 
In  this  mean  and  guilty  earth, 

How  I  love  you,  pretty  creatures, 
Lamb -like  flock  of  little  things, 

Where  the  love  that  lights  your  features 
From  the  heart  in  beauty  springs : 

On  these  laughing  rosy  faces 
There  are  no  deep  lines  of  sin, 

None  of  passion's  dreary  traces 
That  betray  the  wounds  within ; 


64  CHILDREN. 

But  yours  is  the  sunny  dimple 
Radiant  with  untutor'd  smiles, 

Yours  the  heart,  sincere  and  simple, 
Innocent  of  selfish  wiles ; 

Yours  the  natural  curling  tresses, 
Prattling  tongues,  and  shyness  coy, 

Tottering  steps,  and  kind  caresses, 
Pure  with  health,  and  warm  with  joy. 

The  dull  slaves  of  gain,  or  passion, 
Cannot  love  you  as  they  should, 

The  poor  worldly  fools  of  fashion 
Would  not  love  you  if  they  could : 

Write  them  childless,  those  cold-hearted, 
Who  can  scorn  Thy  generous  boon, 

And  whose  souls  with  fear  have  smarted, 
Lest  —  Thy  blessings  come  too  soon. 

While  he  hath  a  child  to  love  him 
No  man  can  be  poor  indeed, 

While  he  trusts  a  Friend  above  him, 
None  can  sorrow,  fear  or  need. 


CHILDREN.  85 

But  for  thee,  whose  hearth  is  lonely 
And  unwarmed  by  children's  mirth, 

Spite  of  riches,  thou  art  only 
Desolate  and  poor  on  earth : 

All  unkiss'd  by  innocent  beauty, 

All  unlov'd  by  guileless  heart, 
All  uncheer'd  by  sweetest  duty, 

Childless  man,  how  poor  thou  art ! 


8 


86 


SONNET    TO   MY   BOOK, 
"proverbial  philosophy;"  before  publication. 

My  soul's  own  son,  dear  image  of  my  mind, 

I  would  not  without  blessing  send  thee  forth 
Into  the  bleak  wide  world,  whose  voice  unkind 

Perchance  will  mock  at  thee  as  nothing  worth; 
For  the  cold  critic's  jealous  eye  may  find 
In  all  thy  purposed  good  little  but  ill, 
May  taunt  thy  simple  garb  as  quaintly  wrought, 

And  praise  thee  for  no  more  than  the  small  skill 
Of  masquing  as  thine  own  another's  thought : 
What  then  ?  —  count  envious  sneers  as  less  than 
nought : 
Fair  is  thine  aim,  and  having  done  thy  best, 
Lo,  thus  I  bless  thee  ;  yea,  thou  shalt  be  blest ! 


87 


TO  THE  SAME  : 


AFTER   PUBLICATION. 


That   they  have  praised   thee  well,  and   cheered 
thee  on 
With  kinder  tones  than  critics  deign  to  few, 
Child  of  my  thoughts,  my  fancy's  favorite  son, 
Our   courteous  thanks,  our  heartfelt   thanks  are 
due. 
Despise  not  thou  thine  equal's  honest  praise  ; 
Yet  feast  not  of  such  dainties ;  thou  shalt  rue 
Their  sweetness  else  ;  let  rather  generous  pride 
Those  golden  apples  straightly  spurn  aside, 

And  gird  thee  all  unshackled  to  the  race  : 
On  to  the  goal  of  honour,  fair  beginner, 
A  thousand  ducats  thou  shalt  yet  be  winner  I 


88 


SONNET, 


ON   THE   PUBLICATION   OF   THE   SECOND   EDITION   OF  MY 
"  PROVERBIAL  PHILOSOPHY." 


Yet  once  again,  not  after  many  days 

Since  first  I  dared  this  voyage  in  the  dark, 
Borne  on  the  prosperous  gale  of  good  men's  praise 

To  the  wide  waters  I  commit  mine  ark, 
And  bid  God  speed  thy  venture,  gallant  bark  ! 

For   I  have   launched   thee   on   a  thousand 
prayers, 
Freighted  thee   well  with   all  my  mind   and 
heart, 
And  if  some  contraband  error  unawares 
Like  Achan's  wedge,  lie  hid  in  any  part, 
Stand  it  condemned,  as  it  most  justly  ought: 
Yet  be  the  thinker  spared,  if  not  his  thought ; 
For  he  that  with  an  honest  purpose  errs 
Merits   more  kind  excuse  than  the  shrewd  world 
confers. 


89 


MONSIEUR  D'ALVERON, 

AN   INCIDENT,   FOUNDED   ON  FACT. 

Poor  Monsieur  D'Alveron  !  I  well  remember 
The  day  I  visited  his  ruinous  cot, 
And  heard  the  story  of  his  fallen  fortunes. 
It  was  a  fine  May  morning,  and  the  flowers 
Spread  their  fair  faces  to  the  laughing  sun, 
And  look'd  like  small  terrestrial  stars,  that  beam'd 
With  life  and  joy;  the  merry  lark  was  high 
Careering  in  the  heavens,  and  now  and  then 
A  throstle  from  the  neighboring  thicket  pour'd 
His  musical  and  hearty  orisons. 
The  cot  too  truly  told  that  poverty 
Found  it  a  home  with  misery  and  scorn : 
No  clambering  jessamine,  no  well-train'd  roses 
There  lingered,  like  sweet  charity,  to  hide 
The  rents  unseemly  of  the  plaster'd  wall; 
No  tight  trimm'd  rows  of  box,  or  daisy  prim 
8* 


90  MONSIEUR   D  ALVERON. 

Mark'd  a  clean  pathway  through  the  miry  clay, 

But  all  around  was  want  and  cold  neglect. 

With  curious  hand,  (and  heart  that  beat  with  warm 

Benevolence)  —  I  knock'd,  lifted  the  latch, 

And  in  the  language  of  his  mother-land 

Besought  a  welcome  ;  quick  with  courteous  phrase, 

And  joy  unfeign'd  to  hear  his  native  tongue, 

He  bade  me  enter.  —  'T  was  a  ruined  hovel ; 

Disease  and  penury  had  done  their  worst 

To  load  a  wretched  exile  With  despair, 

But  still  with  spirit  unbroken  he  liv'd  on, 

And  with  a  Frenchman's  national  levity 

Bounded  elastic  from  his  weight  of  woes. 

I  listed  long  his  fond  garrulity, 

For  sympathy  and  confidence  are  aye 

Each  other's  echoes,  and  I  won  his  heart 

By  pitying  his  sorrows  ;  long  he  told 

Of  friends,  and  wife,  and  darling  little  ones, 

Fortunes,  and  titles,  and  long-cherished  hopes 

By  frenzied  Revolution  marr'd  and  crush' d  : 

But  oft  my  patience  flicker'd,  and  my  eye 

Wander'd  inquisitive  round  the  murky  room 

To  see  wherein  I  best  might  mitigate 


MONSIEUR   D'ALVERON.  91 

The  misery  my  bosom  bled  to  view. 

I  sat  upon  his  crazy  couch,  and  there 

With  many  sordid  rags,  a  roebuck's  skin 

Show'd  sleek  and  mottled ;  swift  the  clear  grey  eye 

Of  the  poor  sufferer  had  mark'd  my  wonder, 

And  as  in  simple  guise  this  touching  tale 

He  told  me,  in  the  tongue  his  youth  had  lov'd, 

Many  a  tear  stole  down  his  wrinkled  cheek. 

"  Yon  glossy  skin  is  all  that  now  remains 

"  To  tell  me  that  the  past  is  not  a  dream ! 

"  Oft  up  my  Chateau's  avenue  of  limes 

"  To  be  caress'd  in  mine  ancestral  hall 

"  Poor  'Louis'  bounded,  (I  had  called  him  Louis, 

"  Because  I  lov'd  my  King;)  —  my  little  ones 

"  Have  on  his  forked  antlers  often  hung 

"  Their  garlands  of  spring  flowers,  and  fed  him 

with 
"  Sweet  heads  of  clover  from  their  tiny  hands. 
"  But  on  a  sorrowful  day  a  random-shot 
"  Of  some  bold  thief,  or  well-skill'd  forester 
"  Struck  him  to  death,  and  many  a  tear  and  sob 
"  Were  the  unwritten  epitaph  upon  him. 


92  MONSIEUR    D'ALVERON. 

"  The  children  would  not  lose  him  utterly, 
"  But  pray'd  to  have  his  mottled  beautiful  skin 
"  A  rug  to  their  new  pony-chaise,  that  they 
"  flight  oftener  think  of  their  lost  favourite. 
"  Ay  —  there  it  is  !  —  that  precious  treasury 
"  Of  fond  remembrances,  —  that  glossy  skhi ! 
"  O  thou  chief  solace  in  the  wintry  nights 
"  That  warms  my  poor  old  heart,  and  thaws  my 

breast 
"  With  tears  of,  —  Mais,  Monsieur,  asseyez  vous  !"■ 
But  I  had  started  up,  and  turn'd  aside 
To  weep  in  solitude,  — 


93 


WISDOM'S  WISH. 

Ah,  might  I  but  escape  to  some  sweet  spot, 

Oasis  of  my  hopes,  to  fancy  dear, 
Where  rural  virtues  are  not  yet  forgot, 

And  good  old  customs  crown  the  circling  year ; 
Where  still  contented  peasants  love  their  lot, 

And  trade's  vile  din  offends  not  nature's  ear, 
But  hospitable  hearths,  and  welcomes  warm 
To  country  quiet  add  their  social  charm ; 

Some  smiling  bay  of  Cambria's  happy  shore, 
A  wooded  dingle  on  a  mountain-side, 

Within  the  distant  sound  of  ocean's  roar, 
And  looking  down  on  valley  fair  and  wide, 

Mgh  to  the  village  church,  to  please  me  more 
Than  vast  cathedrals  in  their  Gothic  pride, 

And  blest  with  pious  pastor,  who  has  trod 

Himself  the  way,  and  leads  his  flock  to  God,  — 


94  wisdom's  wish. 

"  There  would  I  dwell,  for  I  delight  therein  ! " 
Far  from  the  evil  ways  of  evil  men, 

Untainted  by  the  soil  of  others'  sin, 
My  own  repented  of,  and  clean  again : 

With  health  and  plenty  crown' d,  and  peace  within, 
Choice  books,  and  guiltless  pleasures  of  the  pen, 

And  mountain-rambles  with  a  welcome  friend, 

And  dear  domestic  joys,  that  never  end. 

There,  from  the  flowery  mead,  or  shingled  shore, 
To  cull  the  gems  that  bounteous  nature  gave, 

From  the  rent  mountain  pick  the  brilliant  ore, 
Or  seek  the  curious  crystal  in  its  cave ; 

And  learning  nature's  Master  to  adore, 

Know  more  of  Him  who  came  the  lost  to  save ; 

Drink  deep  the  pleasures  contemplation  gives, 

And  learn  to  love  the  meanest  thing  that  lives. 

No  envious  wish  my  fellows  to  excel, 
No  sordid  money-getting  cares  be  mine ; 

No  low  ambition  in  high  state  to  dwell, 
Nor  meanly  grand  among  the  poor  to  shine : 


wisdom's   wish.  95 

But,  sweet  benevolence,  regale  me  well 

With  those  cheap  pleasures  and  light  cares  of 
thine, 
And  meek-eyed  piety,  be  always  near, 
With  calm  content,  and  gratitude  sincere. 

Rescued  from  cities,  and  forensic  strife, 

And  walking  well  with  God  in  nature's  eye, 

Blest  with  fair  children,  and  a  faithful  wife, 

Love  at  my  board,  and  friendship  dwelling  nigh, 

Oh  thus  to  wear  away  my  useful  life, 

And,  when  I  'm  called  in  rapturous  hope  to  die, 

Thus  to  rob  heav'n  of  all  the  good  I  can, 

And  challenge  earth  to  show  a  happier  man  ! 


96 


THE    MOTHER'S    LAMENT. 


My  own  little  darling  —  dead ! 

The  dove  of  my  happiness  fled 
Just  Heaven,  forgive, 
But  let  me  not  live 

Now  my  poor  babe  is  dead : 


No  more  to  my  yearning  breast 
Shall  that  sweet  mouth  be  prest, 

No  more  on  my  arm 

Nestled  up  warm 
Shall  my  fair  darling  rest : 

Alas,  for  that  dear  glaz'd  eye, 

Why  did  it  dim  or  die  ? 
Those  lips  so  soft 
I  have  kissed  so  oft, 

"Why  are  they  ice,  oh  why  ? 


the  mother's  lament.  97 

Alas,  little  frocks  and  toys, 
Shadows  of  bygone  joys, 

Have  I  not  treasure 

Of  bitterest  pleasure 
In  tliese  little  frocks  and  toys  ? 

O  harrowing  sight  to  behold 
That  marble-like  face  all  cold, 

That  small  cherish' d  form 

Flung  to  the  worm, 
Deep  in  the  charnel-moiild  ! 

Where  is  each  heart- winning  way, 
Thy  prattle,  and  innocent  play  ? 

Alas,  they  are  gone, 

And  left  me  alone 
To  weep  for  them  night  and  day : 

Yet  why  should  I  linger  behind  ? 
Kill  me  too,  —  death  most  kind ; 

Where  can  I  go 

To  meet  thy  blow 
And  my  sweet  babe  to  find  ? 


98  the  mother's  lament. 

I  know  it,  I  rave  half-wild ! 
But  who  can  he  calm  and  mild 

When  the  deep  heart 

Is  riven  apart 
Over  a  dear  dead  child  ? 

I  know  it,  I  should  not  speak 
So  boldly,  —  I  ought  to  be  meek, 
But  love  it  is  strong, 
And  my  spirit  is  stung 
Lying  all  numb'd  and  weak. 


99 


TRUST. 

"  My  times  are  in  thy  hand." 

Yet  will  I  trust !  in  all  my  fears, 
Thy  mercy,  gracious  Lord,  appears, 
To  guide  me  through  this  vale  of  tears, 

And  be  my  strength ; 
Thy  mercy  guides  the  ebb  and  flow 
Of  health  and  joy,  or  pain  and  woe, 
To  wean  my  heart  from  all  below 

To  Thee  at  length. 
Yes,  —  welcome  pain, — which  Thou  has  sent, 
Yes,  —  farewell  blessings,  —  Thou  hast  lent, 
With  Thee  alone  I  rest  content, 

For  Thou  art  Heav'n,  — 
My  trust  reposes,  safe  and  still, 
On  the  wise  goodness  of  Thy  will, 
Grateful  for  earthly  good  —  or  ill, 

Which  Thou  hast  giv'n. 


100  TRUST. 

O  blessed  friend  !  O  blissful  thought ! 
With  happiest  consolation  fraught,  — 
Trust  Thee  I  may,  I  will,  I  ought, — 

To  doubt  were  sin  ; 
Then  let  whatever  storms  arise, 
Their  Ruler  sits  above  the  skies, 
And  lifting  unto  Him  mine  eyes, 

'Tis  calm  within. 
Danger  may  threaten,  foes  molest, 
Poverty  brood,  disease  infest, 
Yea,  torn  affections  wound  the  breast 

For  one  sad  hour, 
But  faith  looks  to  her  home  on  high, 
Hope  casts  around  a  cheerful  eye, 
And  love  puts  all  the  terrors  by 

With  gladdening  power. 


101 


FLOWERS. 

Wilt  thou  gaze  with  me  on  flowers, 
And  let  their  sparkling  eyes 

Glancing  brightly  up  to  ours 
Teach  us  to  be  wise  ? 

The  pale  narcissus  tells  of  youth 
Nurtured  in  purity  and  truth ; 
Violets  on  the  moss -bank  green, 
Of  sweet  benevolence  unseen; 
A  rose  is  blooming  charity ; 
A  snow-drop,  fair  humility ; 
Yon  golden  crocus,  smiling  sweetly, 
Smiles,  alas,  to  perish  fleetly; 
That  hyacinth,  with  cluster' d  bells, 
Of  sympathy  in  sorrow  tells ; 
This  young  mimosa,  as  it  trembles, 
Affection's  thrilling  heart  resembles ; 


102  FLOWERS. 

And  the  glazed  myrtle's  fragrant  bloom 
Hints  at  a  life  that  mocks  the  tomb. 

What  is  a  flower?  a  beauteous  gem 

Set  in  nature's  diadem, 

A  sunbeam  o'er  her  tresses  flung, 

A  word  from  her  poetic  tongue, 

A  silent  burst  of  eloquence, 

A  plaything  of  Omnipotence ;  — 

The  poet's  eye  sees  much  in  these, 

To  learn,  and  love,  and  praise,  and  please. 


103 


WEDDING-GIFTS. 

Young  bride,  —  a  wreath  for  thee  ! 

Of  sweet  and  gentle  flowers ; 
For  wedded  love  was  pure  and  free 

In  Eden's  happy  bowers. 

Young  bride, —  a  song  for  thee ! 

A  song  of  joyous  measure, 
For  thy  cup  of  hope  shall  be 

Fill'd  with  honied  pleasure. 

Young  bride,  —  a  tear  for  thee ! 

A  tear  in  all  thy  gladness ; 
For  thy  young  heart  shall  not  see 

Joy  unmixed  with  sadness. 


104  WEDDING    GIFTS. 

Young  bride,  —  a  smile  for  thee ! 

To  shine  away  thy  sorrow, 
For  heaven  is  kind  to-day,  and  we 

Will  hope  as  well  to-morrow. 

Young  bride,  —  a  prayer  for  thee  ! 

That  all  thy  hopes  possessing, 
Thy  soul  may  praise  her  God,  and  he 

May  crown  thee  with  his  blessing. 


105 


MARRIAGE. 

It  is  most  genial  to  a  soul  refined 

"When  love  can  smile,  unblushing,  unconceal'd, 
When   mutual    thoughts,  and  words  and  acts  are 
kind, 

And  inmost  hopes  and  feelings  are  reveal'd, 
When  interest,  duty,  trust,  together  bind, 

And  the  heart's  deep  affections  are  unseal'd, 
When  for  each  other  live  the  kindred  pair,  — 
Here  is  indeed  a  picture  passing  fair ! 

Hail,  happy  state  !  which  few  have  heart  to  sing, 
Because  they  feel  how  faintly  words  express 

So  kind,  and  dear,  and  chaste,  and  sweet  a  thing 
As  tried  affection's  lasting  tenderness  ;  — 

Yet  stop,  my  venturous  muse,  and  fold  thy  wing, 
Nor  to  a  shrine  so  sacred  rudely  press  ; 

For,  marriage,  —  thine  is  still  a  silent  boast, 

"  Like  beauty  unadorned,  adorned  the  most. " 


106 


A   GLIMPSE    OF   PARADISE. 

Not  many  rays  of  heaven's  mifallen  sun 

Reach  the  dull  distance  of  this  world  of  ours, 
JNbr  oft  dispel  its  shadows  cold  and  dun, 

Nor  oft  with  glory  tint  its  faded  flowers  : 
But,  oh,  if  ever  yet  there  wandered  one, 

Like  Peri  from  her  amaranthine  bowers, 
Or  ministering  angel,  sent  to  bless, 
'  T  was  to  thy  hearth,  domestic  happiness, 
Where  in  the  sunshine  of  a  peaceful  home 
Love's  choicest  roses  bud,  and  burst,  and  bloom, 
And  bleeding  hearts,  lull'd  in  a  holy  calm, 
Bathe  their  deep  wounds  in  Gilead's  healing  balm. 


107 


A   DEBT    OF   LOVE. 

Thou,  more  than  all  endeared  to  this  glad  heart 

By  gentle  smiles,  and  patience  under  pain, 
I  bless  my  God,  and  thee,  for  all  thou  art, 

My  crowning  joy,  my  richest  earthly  gain ! 

To  thee  is  due  tins  tributary  strain 
For  all  the  -well-observed  kind  offices 

That  spring  spontaneous  from  a  heart,  imbued 
"With  the  sweet  wish  of  living  but  to  please  ; 

Due  for  thy  liberal  hand,  thy  frugal  mind, 

Thy  pitying  eye,  thy  voice  for  ever  kind, 
For  tenderness,  truth,  confidence,  —  all  these  : 

My  heaven-blest  vine,  that  hast  thy  tendrils 
twin'd 
Round  one  who  loves  thee,  though  his  strain  be 

rude, 
Accept  thy  "best  reward,  —  thy  husband's  gratitude. 


108 


TO  LITTLE   ELLIN. 

My  precious  babe,  my  guileless  little  girl,  — 
The  soft  sweet  beauty  of  thy  cherub  face 

Is  smiling  on  me,  radiant  as  a  pearl 

With  young  intelligence,  and  infant  grace  : 
And  must  the  wintry  breath  of  life  efface 

Thy  purity,  fair  snow-drop  of  the  spring ! 

Must  evil  taint  thee,  —  must  the  world  enthrall 

Thine  innocent  mind,  poor  harmless  little  thing  ? 
Ah,  yes !  thou  too  must  taste  the  cup  of  woe, 
Thy  heart  must  learn  to  grieve,  as  others  do, 

Thy  soul  must  feel  life's  many-pointed  sting : 
But  fear  not,  darling  child,  for  well  I  know 

Whatever  cares  may  meet  thee,  ills  befall, 

Thy  God,  —  thy  father's  God,  —  shall  lead  thee  safe 
through  all. 


109 


ON   THE    BIRTH   OF   LITTLE   MARY. 

Lo,  Thou  hast  crowned  me  with  another  blessing, 
Into  my  lot  hast  clropt  one  mercy  more  ;  — 

All  good,  all  kind,  all  wise  in  Thee  possessing, 
My  cup,  O  bounteous  Giver,  runneth  o'er, 
And  still  thy  princely  hand  doth  without  ceasing 
pour : 

For  the  sweet  fruit  of  undecaying  love 
Clusters  in  beauty  round  my  cottage  door, 

And  this  new  little  one,  like  Noah's  dove, 

Comes  to  mine  ark  with  peace,  and  plenty  for  my 
store. 

O  happy  home,  O  bright  and  cheerful  hearth ! 
Look  round  with  me,  my  lover,  friend,  and  wife, 
On  these  fair  faces  we  have  lit  with  life, 

And  in  the  perfect  blessing  of  their  birth, 

Help  me  to  live  our  thanks  for  so  much  heaven  on 
earth. 

10 


110 


DAYS    GONE   BY. 

Though  we  charge  to-day  with  fleetness, 
Though  we  dread  to-morrow's  sky, 

There's  a  melancholy  sweetness 
In  the  name  of  days  gone  by  : 

Yes,  though  Time  has  laid  his  finger 
On  them,  still  with  streaming  eye 

There  are  spots  where  I  can  linger 
Sacred  to  the  days  gone  by. 

Oft  as  memory's  glance  is  ranging 

Over  scenes  that  cannot  die, 
Then  I  feel  that  all  is  changing, 

Then  I  weep  the  days  gone  by  : 

Sorrowful  should  I  be,  and  lonely, 

"Were  not  all  the  same  as  I, 
'T  is  for  all,  not  my  lot  only, 

To  lament  the  days  gone  by. 


DAYS    GONE    BY.  Ill 

Cease,  fond  heart,  —  to  thee  are  given 

Hopes  of  better  things  on  high, 
There  is  still  a  coming  heaven 

Brighter  than  the  days  gone  by ; 

Faith  lifts  off  the  sable  curtain 

Hiding  huge  eternity, 
Hope  accounts  her  prize  as  certain, 

And  forgets  the  days  gone  by, 

Love  in  grateful  adoration 

Bids  distrust  and  sorrow  fly, 
And  with  glad  anticipation 

Calms  regret  for  days  gone  by. 


112 


THE    CRISIS. 

Hush  —  O  heaven !  a  moment  more, 
A  breath,  a  step,  and  all  is  o'er ; 
Hark  —  beneath  the  waters  wild! 
Save,  O  mercy,  save  my  child. 

Swiftly  from  her  heaving  breast 
The  mother  tore  the  snowy  vest,  — 
Her  little  truant  saw  and  smil'd, 
Turn'd,  —  and  mercy  saved  the  child. 

Thus,  the  face  of  love  can  win 
Where  fear  is  weak  to  scare  from  sin, 
Thus,  when  faith  and  conscience  slept, 
Jesus  look'd,  —  and  Peter  wept. 


113 


CHARITY. 

Fair  charity,  thou  rarest,  best,  and  brightest ! 

Who  would  not  gladly  hide  thee  in  his  heart 
With  all  thine  angel  guests  ?  for  thou  delightest 

To  bring  such  with  thee,  —  guests  that  ne'er  de- 
part ; 
Cherub,  with  what  enticement  thou  invitest, 

Perfect  in  winning  beauty  as  thou  art, 
World-wearied  man  to  plant  thee  in  his  bosom 
And  graft  upon  his  cares  thy  balmy  blossom. 

Fain  would  he  be  frank-hearted,  generous,  cheerful, 
Forgiving,  aiding,  loving,  trusting  all, — 

But  knowledge  of  his  kind  has  made  him  fearful 
All  are  not  friends,  whom  friends  he  longs  to  call ; 

For  prudence  makes  men  cold,  and  misery  tearful, 
And  interest  bids  them  rise  upon  his  fall, 


10* 


114  CHARITY. 

And  while  they  seek  their  selfish  own  to  cherish, 
They  leave  the  wounded  stag  alone  to  perish. 

Man  may  rejoice  that  thy  sweet  influence  hallows 
His  intercourse  with  all  he  loves  —  in  heaven ; 

But  canst  thou  make  him  love  his  sordid  fellows, 
Nor  mix  with  them  untainted  by  their  leaven  ? 

How  can  he  not  grow  cautious,  cold,  and  callous, 
"When  he  forgives  to  seventy-times  seven, 

And  still-repeated  wrongs,  unwept  for,  harden 

The  heart  that's  never  sued  nor  sought  to  pardon  ? 

Reserve's  cold  breath  has  chilled  each  warmer  feel- 
ing, 

Ingratitude  has  frozen  up  his  blood, 
Unjust  neglect  has  pierced  him,  past  all  healing, 

And  scarred  a  heart  that  panted  to  do  good ; 
Slowly,  but  surely,  has  distrust  been  steeling 

His  mind,  much  wronged,  and  little  understood ; 
Would  charity  unseal  affection's  fountain  ? 
Alas  !  tis  crushed  beneath  a  marble  mountain. 


CHARITY.  115 

Yet  the  belief  that  he  was  loved  by  other 
Could  root  and  hurl  that  mountain  in  the  sea, 

Oblivion's  depth  the  height  of  ill  would  smother 
And  all  forgiven,  all  forgotten  be ; 

Man  then  could  love  his  once  injurious  brother 
With  such  a  love  as  none  can  give  but  he ; 

The  sun  of  love,  and  that  alone  has  power 

To  bring  to  bright  perfection  love's  sweet  flower. 

Soft  rains,  and  zephyrs,  and  warm  noons  can  van- 
quish 

The  stubborn  tyranny  of  winter's  frost; 
Once  more  the  smiling  valleys  cease  to  languish, 

Drest  out  in  fresher  beauties  than  they  lost : 
So  springs  with  gladness  from  its  bed  of  anguish 

The  heart  that  lov'd  not,  when  reviled  and  crost, 
For,  though  case-hardened  by  ill-usage,  often 
Love's  sunny  smile  the  rockiest  heart  will  soften. 


116 


SONNET 

TO    THE    UNDYING    SPIRIT    OF 

FREDERICK  KLOPSTOCK. 


(The  allusions  herein  are  to  expressions  contained  in  his  letters.) 


Immortal  mind,  so  bright  with  beautiful  thought, 
And  robed  so  fair  in  loveliest  sympathy, 

"  Thou  Christian,"  by  thy  "  guardian  angel "  taught 
The  master-touches  of  all  melody, 

Am  not  I  "  one  of  those  "  unworthy,  sought 

By  thy  rapt  soul  with  "  love's  prospective  eye  ?" 

I  feel  I  love  thee,  "  brother,"  as  I  ought,  — 

Look  down  and  love  me  too,  where'er  thou  art : 
I  too  am  cherish' d  by  as  kind  a  heart 

As  beat  in  "  gentle  Cidli's  "  breast  divine, 

I  too  can  bless  the  hand  which  made  her  mine ; 
And  within  me,  congenial  feelings  dart, 

Whether  to  glow,  or  thrill,  or  hope,  or  melt, 

My  soul  attuned  to  thine  can  feel  as  thou  hast  felt. 


117 


THE   FORSAKEN. 

I  thought  him  still  sincere, 

I  hoped  he  lov'd  me  yet ; 
My  poor  heart  pants  with  harrowing  fear, 

O  canst  thou  thus  forget  ? 

I  gaz'd  into  his  face 

And  scann'd  his  features  o'er, 
And  there  was  still  each  manly  grace 

That  won  my  love  before  ; 

But  coldly  look'd  those  eyes 

Which  oft  had  thrill' d  my  breast, 

He  was  too  great,  too  rich,  too  wise, 
To  make  me  his  confest. 

Conldst  thou  know  what  I  felt 

To  see  thee  light  and  gay, 
Thy  frozen  heart  would  warm  and  melt, 

And  weep  its  ice  away  : 


118  THE    FORSAKEN. 

Yes,  I  can  tell  of  tears 

These  eyes  for  thee  have  shed, 

In  daily,  nightly,  hourly,  pray'rs 
For  blessings  on  thy  head. 

I  name  thee  not,  through  shame 
That  truth  should  fade  and  flee  : 

Fear  not,  —  thy  love,  thy  vows,  thy  name 
Are  known  to  none  but  me. 

Farewell !  '  tis  mine  to  prove 
Of  blighted  hopes  the  pain  ; 

But,  O  believe,  I  ne'er  can  love, 
As  I  have  lov'd,  again : 

Farewell !  't  is  thine  to  change, 

Forget,  be  false,  be  free  ; 
But  know,  wherever  thou  shalt  range, 

That  none  can  love  like  me. 


119 


THE    STAMMERER'S    COMPLAINT. 

Ah  !  think  it  not  a  light  calamity 

To  be  denied  free  converse  with  my  kind, 

To  be  debarred  from  man's  true  attribute, 

The  proper  glorious  privilege  of  Speech. 

Hast  ever  seen  an  eagle  chain'd  to  earth  ? 

A  restless  panther  in  his  cage  immured  ? 

A  swift  trout  by  the  wily  fisher  checked  ? 

A  wild  bird  hopeless  strain  its  broken  wing  ? 

Hast  ever  felt,  at  the  dark  dead  of  night, 

Some  undefined  and  horrid  incubus 

Press  down  the  very  soul,  —  and  paralyse 

The  limbs  in  their  imaginary  flight 

From  shadowy  terrors  in  unhallowed  sleep  ? 

Hast  ever  known  the  sudden  icy  chill 

Of  dreary  disappointment,  as  it  dashes 

The  sweet  cup  of  anticipated  bliss 

From  the  parched  lips  of  long-enduring  hope  ? 


120  THE    STAMMERER'S    COMPLAINT. 

Then  thou  canst  picture,  — aye,  in  sober  truth, 
In  real,  unexaggerated  truth,  — 
The  constant,  galling,  festering  chain  that  binds 
Captive  my  mute  interpreter  of  thought ; 
The  seal  of  lead  enstamp'd  upon  my  lips, 
The  load  of  iron  on  my  labouring  chest, 
The  mocking  demon  that  at  every  step 
Haunts   me,  —  and   spurs    me   on  —  to   burst  with 

silence ! 
Oh !  '  tis  a  sore  affliction  to  restrain, 
From  mere  necessity,  the  glowing  thought ; 
To  feel  the  fluent  cataract  of  speech 
Check'd  by  some  wintry  spell,  and  frozen  up, 
Just  as  it 's  leaping  from  the  precipice  ! 
To  be  the  butt  of  wordy  captious  fools, 
And  see  the  sneering  self-complacent  smile 
Of  victory  on  their  lips,  when  I  might  prove, 
(But  for  some  little  word  I  dare  not  utter,) 
That  innate  truth  is  not  a  specious  lie : 
To  hear  foul  slander  blast  an  honour'd  name, 
Yet  breathe  no  fact  to  drive  the  fiend  away : 
To  mark  neglected  virtue  in  the  dust, 
Yet  have  no  word  to  pity  or  console : 


THE    STAMMERER'S    COMPLAINT.  121 

To  feel  just  indignation  swell  my  breast, 
Yet  know  the  fountain  of  my  wrath  is  sealed : 
To  see  my  fellow-mortals  hurrying  on 
Down  the  steep  cliff  of  crime,  down  to  perdition, 
Yet  have  no  voice  to  warn,  —  no  voice  to  win ! 

'Tis  to  be  mortified  in  every  point, 
Baffled  at  every  turn  of  life,  for  want 
Of  that  most  common  privilege  of  man, 
The  merest  drug  of  gorged  society, 
Words,  —  windy  words. 

And  is  it  not  in  truth, 

A  poison' d  sting  in  every  social  joy, 

A  thorn  that  rankles  in  the  writhing  flesh, 

A  drop  of  gall  in  each  domestic  sweet, 

An  irritating  petty  misery, 

That  I  can  never  look  on  one  I  love, 

And  speak  the  fullness  of  my  burning  thoughts  ? 

That  I  can  never  with  unmingled  joy 

Meet  a  long-loved  and  long-expected  friend, 

Because  I  feel,  but  cannot  vent  my  feelings,  — 

Because  I  know  I  ought,  —  but  must  not  speak, 
11 


122  the  stammerer's  complaint. 

Because  I  mark  his  quick  impatient  eye 

Striving  in  kindness  to  anticipate 

The  word  of  welcome,  strangled  in  its  birth ! 

Is  it  not  sorrow,  while  I  truly  love 

Sweet  social  converse,  to  be  forced  to  shun 

The  happy  circle,  from  a  nervous  sense, 

An  agonizing  poignant  consciousness 

That  I  must  stand  aloof,  nor  mingle  with 

The  wise  and  good,  in  rational  argument, 

The  young  in  brilliant  quickness  of  reply, 

Friendship's  ingenuous  interchange  of  mind, 

Affection's  open-hearted  sympathies, 

But  feel  myself  an  isolated  being, 

A  very  wilderness  of  widow' d  thought ! 

Aye,  't  is  a  bitter  thing,  —  and  not  less  bitter 
Because  it  is  not  reckoned  in  the  ills, 
"  The  thousand  natural  shocks  that  flesh  is  heir  to ; " 
Yet  the  full  ocean  is  but  countless  drops, 
And  misery  is  an  aggregate  of  tears, 
And  life,  replete  with  small  annoyances, 
Is  but  one  long  protracted  scene  of  sorrow. 


THE    STAMMERER'S    COMPLAINT.  123 

I  scarce  would  wonder,  if  a  godless  man, 
(I  name  not  him  whose  hope  is  heavenward,) 
A  man,  whom  lying  vanities  hath  scath'd 
And  harden'd  from  all  fear,  —  if  such  an  one 
By  this  tyrannical  Argus  goaded  on 
Were  to  be  wearied  of  his  very  life, 
And  daily,  hourly  foiled  in  social  converse, 
By  the  slow  simmering  of  disappointment 
Become  a  sour'd  and  apathetic  being, 
"Were  to  feel  rapture  at  the  approach  of  death, 
And  long  for  Ins  dark  hope,  —  annihilation. 


124 


BENEVOLENCE. 

"  It  is  more  blessed  to  give,  than  to  receive." 

There  is  indeed  one  crowning  joy, 
A  pleasure  that  can  never  cloy, 

The  bliss  of  doing  good ; 
And  to  it  a  reward  is  given 
Most  precious  in  the  sight  of  heaven, 

The  tear  of  gratitude. 

To  raise  the  fallen  from  the  dust, 
To  right  the  poor  by  judgment  just, 

The  broken  heart  to  heal, 
Pour  on  the  soul  a  stream  as  bright 
Of  satisfying  deep  delight 

As  happy  spirits  feel : 

Yes,  high  archangels  wing  their  way 
Far  from  the  golden  founts  of  day 
To  scenes  of  earthly  sadness, 


BENEVOLENCE.  125 

That  they  may  comfort  the  distress'd,  — 
And  feel  in  blessing,  deeply  blest, 
In  gladd'ning,  full  of  gladness. 

The  choicest  happiness  there  is, 
Godhead's  essential  perfect  bliss, 

Is  born  of  doing  good  ; 
He  looks  around,  and  sees  the  eye 
Of  all  creation  spangled  by 

The  tear  of  gratitude  ! 

All  hail,  my  country's  noble  sons, 
Ye  generous  and  unselfish  ones, 

Who  foreign  shores  have  trod, 
Smit  with  the  love  of  doing  good,  — ■ 
O  that  my  portion  with  you  stood ! 

For  ye  are  like  your  God, 

And  lives  there  one,  who  never  felt 

His  heart  with  zeal  or  kindness  melt, 

Nor  ever  shed  a  tear 

Of  sympathy  for  other's  woe  ? 

If  such  a  man  exist  below 

A  fiend  in  flesh  is  here. 
11* 


126  BENEVOLENCE. 

Brethren,  unsatisfied  with  earth, 
Who  heave  a  sigh  'mid  all  your  mirth, 

And  feel  it  empty  joy, 
Ye  may,  —  there  only  wants  the  will,  — 
Your  dearest  hope  of  bliss  fulfil, 

Of  bliss  without  alloy  : 

Most  glad  a  thing  it  is  and  sweet, 
To  sit,  and  learn  at  Wisdom's  feet, 

And  hear  her  dulcet  voice ; 
First  in  her  comforts  to  be  glad, 
And  then  to  comfort  other  sad, 

And  teach  them  to  rejoice  : 

How  sweet  it  is  to  link  again 
Estranged  affection's  broken  chain, 

And  sooth  the  tortured  breast ; 
To  be  the  favoured  one  that  may 
Recal  to  love  hearts  torn  away, 

And  thus  by  both  be  blest. 

Rich  men  and  proud,  who  fain  would  find 
Some  new  indulgence  for  the  mind, 
Some  scheme  to  gladden  self, 


BENEVOLENCE.  127 

If  ye  will  feed  the  famish'd  poor, 
Happiness  shall  ye  buy,  far  more 
Than  with  a  world  of  pelf : 

Ye  cannot  see  the  tearful  eye, 
Ye  cannot  hear  the  grateful  sigh, 

Nor  feel  yourselves  belov'd 
By  the  pale  children  of  distress 
Whom  ye  have  been  the  gods  to  bless,  — 

With  hearts  unthrilled,  unmoved. 

And  you,  who  love  your  fellow-men, 
And  feel  a  sacred  transport,  when 

Ye  can  that  love  fulfil, — 
Go,  rescue  yonder  tortured  brute, 
Its  gratitude  indeed  is  mute, 

But,  oh !  it  loves  you  still. 

Children  of  science,  who  delight 
To  track  out  wisdom's  beauty  bright 

In  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky,  — 
While  nature's  lovely  face  you  scan, 
Go,  seek  and  save  some  erring  man, 

And  set  his  hope  on  high. 


128  BENEVOLENCE. 

But  still  reflect  that  all  the  good 
Ye  do,  demands  your  gratitude, 

For  't  is  a  heavenly  boon, 
That  should  for  its  own  sake  be  sought, 
Though  to  itself  is  kindly  brought 

A  blessing  sweet  and  soon : 

It  is  reward  to  imitate, 
In  comforting  the  desolate, 

That  gracious  One  who  stood 
A  ransom  for  a  ruined  world, 
And  still,  himself  to  ruin  hurl'd, 

Found  evil  for  his  good. 

And  what  an  argument  for  pray'r 
Hath  yearning  mercy  written  there, 

For  if  indeed  "  to  give 
Is  blessed  rather  than  the  gift "  — 
Go  thou,  to  heaven  the  voice  uplift, 

And  then  thou  must  receive. 


129 


A  CABINET  OF  FOSSILS. 

Come,  and  behold  with  curious  eye 

These  records  of  a  world  gone  by, 

These  tell-tales  of  the  youth  of  time,  — 

When  changes,  sudden,  vast,  sublime, 

(From  chaos,  and  fair  order's  birth, 

To  the  last  flood  that  drowned  the  earth,  — ) 

Shattered  the  crust  of  this  young  world, 

Into  the  seas  its  mountains  hmTd, 

And  upon  boisterous  surges  strong 

Bore  the  broad  ruins  far  along 

To  pave  old  ocean's  shingly  bed, 

While  bursting  upwards  in  their  stead 

The  lowest  granites  towering  rose 

To  pierce  the  clouds  with  crested  snows. 

Where  future  Apennine  or  Alp 

Bared  to  high  heav'n  its  icy  scalp. 

Look  on  these  coins  of  kingdoms  old, 
These  medals  of  a  broken  mould  ; 


130  A    CABINET    OF    FOSSILS. 

These  corals  in  the  green  hill-side, 
These  fruits  and  flowers  beneath  the  tide, 
These  struggling  flies,  in  amber  found, 
These  huge  pine-forests  underground, 
These  flint  sea-eggs,  with  curious  bosses, 
These  fibred  ferns,  and  fruited  mosses 
Lying  as  in  water  spread, 
And  stone-struck  by  some  Gorgon's  head. 
The  chambers  of  this  graceful  shell, 
So  delicately  formed,  —  so  well, 
None  can  declare  what  years  have  past 
Since  life  hath  tenanted  it  last, 
What  countless  centuries  have  flown 
Since  age  hath  made  the  shell  a  stone : 
Gaze  with  me  on  those  jointed  stems, 
A  living  plant  of  starry  gems, 
And  on  that  sea-flower,  light  and  fair, 
Which  shoots  its  leaves  in  agate  there ; 
Behold  these  giant  ribs  in  stone 
Of  mighty  monsters,  long  unknown, 
That  in  some  antemundane  flood 
Wallow'd  on  continents  of  mud, 
A  lizard  race,  but  well  for  man, 
Dead  long  before  his  day  began, 


A    CABINET    OF    FOSSILS.  131 

Monsters,  through  providence  extinct, 

That  crocodiles  to  fishes  link'd ; 

And  shreds  of  other  forms  beside 

That  sported  in  the  yeasty  tide, 

Or  flapping  far  with  dragon-wing 

On  the  slow  tortoise  wont  to  spring, 

Or  ambush' d  in  the  rushes  rank 

Watch' d  the  dull  mammoth  on  the  bank, 

Or  lov'd  the  green  and  silent  deep, 

Or  on  the  coral-bank  to  sleep, 

"Where  many  a- rood,  in  passive  strength, 

The  scaly  reptiles  lay  at  length. 

For  there  are  wonders,  wondrous  strange, 
To  those  who  will  through  nature  range, 
And  use  the  mind,  and  clear  the  eye, 
And  let  instruction  not  pass  by : 
There  are  deep  thoughts  of  tranquil  joy 
For  those  who  thus  their  hearts  employ, 
And  trace  the  wise  design  that  lurks 
In  holy  nature's  meanest  works, 
And  by  the  torch  of  truth  discern 
The  happy  lessons  good  men  learn  : 


132  A    CABINET    OF    FOSSILS. 

O  there  are  pleasures,  sweet  and  new, 
To  those  who  thus  creation  view, 
And  as  on  this  wide  world  they  look, 
Regard  it  as  one  mighty  book, 
Inscrib'd  within,  before,  behind, 
"With  workings  of  the  Master-mind ; 
Ray'd  with  that  wisdom,  which  excels 
In  framing  worlds,  —  or  fretting  shells,  — 
Filled  with  that  mercy,  which  delights 
In  blessing  men,  —  or  guiding  mites,— 
With  silent  deep  benevolence, 
With  hidden  mild  Omnipotence, 
With  order's  everlasting  laws, 
With  seen  effect,  and  secret  cause, 
Justice  and  truth  in  all  things  rife, 
Filling  the  world  with  love  and  life, 
And  teaching  from  creation  round 
How  good  the  God  of  all  is  found, 
His  handiwork  how  vast,  how  kind, 
How  prearrang'd  by  clearest  mind, 
How  glorious  in  his  own  estate, 
And  in  his  smallest  works,  how  great  ! 


133 


THE   MAST    OF   THE    VICTORY. 
a  ballad;  founded  on  an  anecdote  here  detailed. 

PART  I. 

Nine  years  the  good  ship's  gallant  mast 

Encountered  storm  and  battle, 
Stood  firm  and  fast  against  the  blast, 

And  grape-shots'  iron  rattle  : 

And  still,  though  lightning,  ball,  and  pike, 
Had  stricken  oft,  and  scor'd  her, 

The  Victory  could  never  strike,  — 
For  Nelson  was  aboard  her  ! 

High  in  the  air  waved  proudly  there 

Old  England's  flag  of  glory,  — 
"While  see  !  below  the  broad  decks  flow, 

With  streaming  slaughter  gory ; 
12 


134  THE  MAST  OF  THE  VICTORY. 

Each  thundering  gun  is  robed  in  dun, 

That  broadside  was  a  beauty,  — 
Hip,  hip,  hurrah!  the  battle's  won, 
Hip,  hip,  hurrah !  each  man  has  done 
This  day  a  sailor's  duty. 

But,  "woesome  lot !  a  coward  shot 

Struck  Nelson  as  he  vanquish' d, 
And  Britain  in  her  griefs  forgot 
Her  glories,  where  her  son  was  not,  — 
Her  lion-heart  was  anguish'd. 

For  hit  at  last,  against  that  mast 

The  hero  faintly  lying, 
Felt  the  cold  breath  of  nearing  death, 

And  knew  that  he  was  dying. 


PART   II. 

And  past  is  many  a  weary  day, 
Since  that  dark  glorious  hour, 

And  half  the  mast  was  stow'd  away 
In  Windsor's  royal  tower ; 


THE    MAST    OF    THE    VICTORY.  135 

But  three  feet  good  of  that  old  wood 

So  scarr'd  in  war,  and  rotten, 
Was  thrown  aside,  unknown  its  pride, 

In  honours  all  forgotten ; 

When,  as  in  shade  the  block  was  laid, 

Two  robins,  perching  on  it, 
Thought  that  place  best  to  build  a  nest, 

They  plann'd  it,  and  have  done  it ; 

The  splinter'd  spot  which  lodg'd  a  shot 

Is  lined  with  moss  and  feather, 
And  chirping  loud,  a  callow  brood 

Are  nestling  up  together ; 

How  full  of  bliss,  —  how  peaceful  is 

That  spot  the  soft  nest  caging, 
Where  war's  alarms,  and  blood-stained  arms 

Were  once  around  it  raging ! 

And  so  in  sooth  it  is  a  truth 

That  where  the  heart  is  stricken, 

Sweeter  at  last,  for  perils  past 
That  us'd  the  soul  to  sicken, 


136  THE    MAST    OF    THE    VICTORY. 

Comes  a  soft  calm,with  healing  balm 
Where  sorrow  deeply  smarted, 

And  peace  with  strength  is  sent  at  length 
To  bless  the  broken-hearted. 


137 


AN  ENQUIRY  CONCERNING   THE    SOULS 

OF  BRUTES. 

"  INCERTUS   EURO   PER  LOCA  DEVIA."  —  HOR, 

Are  these  then  made  in  vain  ?  is  man  alone 
Of  all  the  marvels  of  creative  love 
Blest  with  a  scintillation  of  His  essence, 
The  heavenly  spark  of  reasonable  soul  ? 
And  hath  not  yon  sagacious  dog,  that  finds 
A  meaning  in  the  shepherd's  idiot  face, 
Or  the  huge  elephant,  that  lends  his  strength 
To  drag  the  stranded  galley  to  the  shore, 
And  strives  with  emulative  pride  to  excel 
The  mindless  crowd  of  slaves  that  toil  beside  him, 
Or  the  young  generous  war-horse,  when  he  sniffs 
The  distant  field  of  blood,  and  quick  and  shrill 
Neighing  for  joy,  instils  a  desperate  courage 
Into  the  veteran  trooper's  quailing  heart, — 
12* 


13S  AN    ENQUIRY    CONCERNING 

Have  they  not  all  an  evidence  of  soul 

(Of  soul,  the  proper  attribute  of  man,) 

The  same  in  kind,  though  meaner  in  degree  ? 

Why  should  not  that  which  hath  been, — be  for  ever? 

And  death,  —  O  can  it  be  annihilation  ? 

No,  —  though  the  stolid  atheist  fondly  clings 

To  that  last  hope,  how  kindred  to  despair; 

No,  —  'tis  the  struggling  spirit's  hour  of  joy, 

The  glad  emancipation  of  the  soul, 

The  moment  when  the  cumbrous  fetters  drop, 

And  the  bright  spirit  wings  its  way  to  heaven ! 

To  say  that  God  annihilated  aught 

Were  to  declare  that  in  an  unwise  hour 

He  plann'd  and  made  somewhat  superfluous : 

Why  should  not  the  mysterious  life,  that  dwells 

In  reptiles  as  in  man,  and  shows  itself 

In  memory,  gratitude,  love,  hate,  and  pride, 

Still  energize,  and  be,  though  death  may  crush 

Yon  frugal  ant,  or  thoughtless  butterfly, 

Or  with  the  simoom's  pestilential  gale 

Strike  down  the  patient  camel  in  the  desert  ? 


THE    SOULS    OF    BRUTES.  139 

There  is  one  chain  of  intellectual  soul, 
In  many  links  and  various  grades,  throughout 
The  scale  of  nature ;  from  the  climax  bright 
The  first  great  Cause  of  all,  Spirit  supreme, 
Incomprehensible,  and  unconfm'cl, 
To  high  archangels  blazing  near  the  tin-one, 
Seraphim,  cherubim,  virtues,  aids,  and  powers, 
All  capable  of  perfection  in  their  kind ;  — 
To   man,  as  holy  from  his  Maker's  hand 
He  stood,  in  possible  excellence  complete, 
(Man,  who  is  destin'd  now  to  brighter  glories, 
As  nearer  to  the  present  God,  in  One 
His  Lord  and  substitute,  —  than  angels  reach;) 
Then  man  as  fall'n,  with  every  varied  shade 
Of  character  and  capability, 
From  him  who  reads  his  title  to  the  skies, 
Or  grasps  with  giant-mind  all  nature's  wonders, 
Down  to  the  monster  shaped  in  human  form, 
Murderer,  slavering  fool,  or  blood-stained  savage ; 
Then  to  the  prudent  elephant,  the  dog 
Half-humaniz'd,  the  docile  Arab  horse, 
The  social  beaver,  and  contriving  fox, 
The  parrot,  quick  in  pertinent  reply, 


140  AN    ENQUIRY    CONCERNING 

The  kind-affectioned  seal,  and  patriot  bee, 

The  merchant-storing  ant,  and  wintering  swallow, 

With  all  those  other  palpable  emanations 

And  energies  of  one  eternal  mind 

Prevading  and  instructing  all  that  live, 

Down  to  the  sentient  grass,  and  shrinking  clay. 

In  truth,  I  see  not  why  the  breath  of  life, 

Thus  omnipresent  and  upholding  all, 

Should  not  return  to  Him,  and  be  immortal, 

(I  dare  not  say  the  same)  in  some  glad  state 

Originally  destin'd  for  creation, 

As  well  from  brutish  bodies,  as  from  man. 

The  uncertain  glimmer  of  analogy 

Suggests  the  thought,  and  reason's  shrewder  guess ; 

Yet  revelation  whispers  nought  but  this, 

"  Our  Father  careth  when  a  sparrow  dies," 

And  that  "  the  spirit  of  a  brute  descends" 

As  to  some  secret  and  preserving  Hades. 

But  for  some  better  life,  in  what  strange  sort 
Were  justice,  mixed  with  mercy,  dealt  to  these?  — 
Innocent  slaves  of  sordid  guilty  man, 
Poor  un thank' d  drudges,  toiling  to  his  will, 


THE     SOULS     OF     BRUTES.  141 

Pampered  in  youth,  and  haply  starv'd  in  age, 

Obedient,  faithful,  gentle,  though  the  spur 

"Wantonly  cruel,  or  unsparing  thong 

Weal  your  gall'd  hides,  or  your  strain'd  sinews  crack 

Beneath  the  crushing  load,  —  what  recompence 

Can  He  who  gave  you  being  render  you 

If  in  the  rank  full  harvest  of  your  griefs 

Ye  sink  annihilated,  to  the  shame 

Of  government  unequal  ?  —  In  that  day 

When  crime  is  sentenc'd,  shall  the  cruel  heart 

Boast  uncondemn' d,  because  no  tortured  brute 

Stands  there  accusing  ?  shall  the  embodied  deeds 

Of  man  not  follow  him,  nor  the  rescued  fly 

Bear  its  kind  witness  to  the  saving  hand? 

Shall  the  mild  Brahmin  stand  in  equal  sin 

Regarding  nature's  menials,  with  the  wretch 

Who  flays  the  moaning  Abyssinian  ox, 

Or  roasts  the  living  bird,  or  flogs  to  death 

The  famishing  pointer  ?  —  and  must  these  again, 

These  poor  unguilty  uncomplaining  victims 

Have  no  reward  for  life  with  its  sharp  pains  ?  — 

They  have  my  suffrage  :  Nineveh  was  spared, 


142  AN     ENQUIRY     CONCERNING 

Though  Jonah  prophesied  its  doom,  for  sake 

Of  six-score  thousand  infants,  and  "much  cattle;" 

And  space  is  wide  enough,  for  every  grain 

Of  the  broad  sands  that  curb  our  swelling  seas 

Each  separate  in  its  sphere  to  stand  apart 

As  far  as  sun  from  sun :  there  lacks  not  room, 

Nor  time,  nor  care,  where  all  is  infinite  : 

And  still  I  doubt :  it  is  a  Gordian  knot, 

A  dark  deep  riddle,  rich  with  curious  thoughts ; 

Yet  hear  me  tell  a  trivial  incident, 

And  draw  thine  own  conclusion  from  my  tale. 

Paris  kept  holiday ;  a  merrier  sight 

The  crowded  Champs  Elysees  never  saw : 

Loud  pealing  laughter,  songs,  and  flageolets 

And  giddy  dances  'neath  the  shadowing  elms, 

Green  vistas  throng'd  with  thoughtless  multitudes, 

Traitorous  processions,  frivolous  pursuits, 

And  pleasures  full  of  sin,  —  the  loud  "  hurra  ! '; 

And  fierce  enthusiastic  "  Vive  la  nation !"  — 

Were  these  thy  ways  and  works,  O  godlike  man, 

Monopolist  of  mind,  great  patentee 

Of  truth,  and  sense,  and  reasonable  soul  ?  — 


THE    SOULS    OF    BRUTES.  143 

My  heart  was  sick  with  gaiety ;  nor  less, 
When  (sad,  sad  contrast  to  the  sensual  scene) 
I  marked  a  single  hearse  through  the  dense  crowd 
Move  on  its  noiseless  melancholy  way : 
The  blazing  sun  half  quench' d  it  with  his  beams, 
And  show'd  it  but  more  sorrowful :  I  gaz'd, 
And  gaz'd  with  wonder  that  no  feeling  heart, 
No  solitary  man  followed  to  note 
The  spot  where  poor  mortality  must  sleep  : 
Alas  !  it  was  a  friendless  child  of  sorrow, 
That  stole  unheeded  to  the  house  of  Death  ! 
My  heart  beat  strong  with  sympathy,  and  loath'd 
The  noisy  follies  that  were  buzzing  round  me, 
And  I  resolv'd  to  watch  him  to  his  grave, 
And  ffive  a  man  his  fellow-sinner's  tear : 
I  left  the  laughing  crowd,  and  quickly  gain'd 
That  dreary  hearse,  and  found,  —  he  was  not  friend- 
less! 
Yes,  there  was  one,  one  only,  faithful  found 
To  that  forgotten  wanderer,  —  his  clog  ! 
And  there,  with  measured  step,  and  drooping  head, 
And  tearful  eye,  paced  on  the  stricken  mourner. 
Yes,  I  remember  how  my  bosom  ached. 


144  AN    ENQUIRY,    &C. 

To  see  its  sensible  face  look  up  to  mine 
As  in  confiding  sympathy,  —  and  howl : 
Yes,  I  can  never  forget  what  grief  unfeign'd, 
What  true  love,  and  unselfish  gratitude, 
That  poor,  bereav'd,  and  soulless  dog  betray'd. 

Ah,  give  me,  give  rne  such  a  friend,  I  cried ; 
Yon  myriad  fools  and  knaves  in  human  guise 
Compar'd  with  thee,  poor  cur,  are  vain  and  worth- 
less, 
While  man,  who  claims  a  soul  exclusively, 
Is  sham'd  by  yonder  "  mere  machine,  "  —  a  dog ! 


"equidem  credo  quia  sit  divinitus  illis  ingentum.  " 

VIRG. 


145 


THE    CHAMOIS-HUNTER. 

A   LESSON   OF  LIFE. 

The  scene  was  bathed  in  beauty  rare, 
For  Alpine  grandeur  toppled  there, 

With  emerald  spots  between, 
A  summer-evening's  blush  of  rose 
All  faintly  warmed  the  crested  snows 

And  tinged  the  vallies  green ; 

Night  gloom'd  apace,  and  dark  on  high 
The  thousand  banners  of  the  sky 

Their  awful  width  unfurl'd, 
Veiling  Mont  Blanc's  majestic  brow, 
That  seem'd  among  its  cloud -wrapt  snow, 

The  ghost  of  some  dead  world : 
13 


146  THE    CHAMOIS-HUNTER. 

When  Pierre  the  hunter  cheerly  went 
To  scale  the  Catton's  battlement 

Before  the  peep  of  day ; 
He  took  his  rifle,  pole,  and  rope, 
His  heart  and  eyes  alight  with  hope, 

He  hasted  on  his  way. 

He  cross'd  the  vale,  he  hurried  on, 
He  forded  the  cold  Arveron, 

The  first  rough  terrace  gain'd, 
Threaded  the  fir- wood's  gloomy  belt, 
And  trod  the  snows  that  never  melt, 

And  to  the  summit  strained. 

Over  the  top,  as  he  knew  well, 
Beyond  the  glacier  in  the  dell 

A  herd  of  chamois  slept, 
So  down  the  other  dreary  side, 
With  cautious  tread,  or  careless  slide, 

He  bounded,  or  he  crept. 

And  now  he  nears  the  chasmed  ice ; 
He  stoops  to  leap,  —  and  in  a  trice, 


THE    CHAMOIS-HUNTER.  147 

His  foot  hath  slipp'd,  —  O  heaven ! 
He  hath  leapt  in,  and  down  he  falls 
Between  those  blue  tremendous  walls, 

Standing  asunder  riven. 

But  quick  his  clutching  nervous  grasp 
Contrives  a  jutting  crag  to  clasp, 

And  thus  he  hangs  in  air ;  — 
O  moment  of  exulting  bliss  ! 
Yet  hope  so  nearly  hopeless  is 

Twin-brother  to  despair. 

He  look'd  beneath,  —  a  horrible  doom ! 
Some  thousand  yards  of  deepening  gloom, 

Where  he  must  drop  to  die ! 
He  look'd  above,  and  many  a  rood 
Upright  the  frozen  ramparts  stood 

Around  a  speck  of  sky. 

Fifteen  long  dreadful  hours  he  hung, 
And  often  by  strong  breezes  swung 

His  faulting  body  twists, 
Scarce  can  he  cling  one  moment  more, 


148  THE    CHAMOIS-HUNTER. 

His  half-dead  hands  are  ice,  and  sore 
His  burning  bursting  wrists ; 

His  head  grows  dizzy,  — he  must  drop, 
He  half  resolves,  —  but  stop,  O  stop, 

Hold  on  to  the  last  spasm, 
Never  in  life  give  up  your  hope,  — 
Behold,  behold  a  friendly  rope 

Is  dropping  down  the  chasm  ! 

They  call  thee,  Pierre,  —  see,  see  them  here, 
Thy  gathered  neighbours  far  and  near, 

Be  cool,  man,  hold  on  fast : 
And  so  from  out  that  terrible  place, 
With  death's  pale  paint  upon  his  face 

They  drew  him  up  at  last. 

And  he  came  home  an  altered  man, 
For  many  harrowing  terrors  ran 

Through  his  poor  heart  that  day  ; 
He  thought  how  all  through  life,  though  young, 
Upon  a  thread,  a  hair,  he  hung, 

Over  a  gulf  midway : 


THE    CHAMOIS-HUNTER.  149 

He  thought  what  fear  it  were  to  fall 
Into  the  pit  that  swallows  all, 

Unwing'd  with  hope  and  love; 
And  when  the  succour  came  at  last, 
O  then  he  learnt  how  firm  and  fast, 

"Was  his  best  Friend  above. 


13* 


150  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


NATURE. 

I  strayed  at  evening  to  a  sylvan  scene 

Dimpling  with  nature's  smile  the  stern  old  moun- 
tain, 
A  shady  dingle,  quiet,  cool,  and  green, 

Where  the  moss'd  rock  poured  forth  its  natural 
fountain, 
And  hazels  clustered  there,  with  fern  between 
And  feathery  meadow-sweet  shed  perfume  round, 
And  the  pink  crocus  pierc'd  the  jewelled  ground; 

Then  was  I  calm  and  happy :  for  the  voice 
Of  nightingales  unseen  in  tremulous  lays 

Taught  me  with  innocent  gladness  to  rejoice, 
And  tuned  my  spirit  to  unformal  praise : 
So  among  silvered  moths,  and  closing  flowers, 
Gambolling  hares,  and  rooks  returning  home, 
And  strong  wing'd  chafers  setting  out  to  roam, 
In  careless  peace  I  passed  the  soothing  hours. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  151 


ART. 

The  massy  fane  of  architecture  olden, 
Or  fretted  minarets  of  marble  white, 
Or  Moorish  arabesque,  begemm'd  and  golden, 
Or  porcelain  Pagoda,  tipp'd  with  light, 
Or  high-spann'd  arches, — were  a  noble  sight: 
Nor  less  yon  gallant  ship,  that  treads  the  waves 
In  a  triumphant  silence  of  delight, 

Like  some  huge   swan  with  its  fair  wings  un- 
furl'd, 
Whose  curved  sides  the  laughing  water  laves, 

Bearing  it  buoyant  o'er  the  liquid  world : 
Nor  less  yon  silken  monster  of  the  sky 

Around  whose  wicker  car  the  clouds  are  curl'd, 
Helping  undaunted  man  to  scale  on  high 
Nearer  the  sun  than  eagles  dare  to  fly ;  — 
Thy  trophies  these,  —  still  but  a  modest  part 
Of  thy  grand  conquests,  wonder-working  Art. 


152  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


CHEERFULNESS. 


AN   INVOCATION. 


Come  to  my  heart  of  hearts,  thou  radiant  face  ! 

So  shall  I  gaze  forever  on  thy  fairness ; 
Thine  eyes  are  smiling  stars,  and  holy  grace 

Blossoms  thy  cheek  with  its  exotic  rareness, 
Trelissing  it  with  jasmin- woven  lace  : 

Come,  laughing  maid,  —  yet  in  thy  laughter  calm, 
Be  this  thy  home, 
Fair  cherub,  come, 

Solace  my  days  with  thy  luxurious  balm, 
And  hover  o'er  my  nightly  couch,  sweet  dove, 
So  shall  I  live  in  joy,  by  living  in  thy  love ! 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  153 


MALICE. 


A     DEPRECATION. 


White  Devil !  turn  from  me  thy  louring  eye, 

Let  thy  lean  lips  unlearn  their  bitter  smile, 
Down  thine  own  throat  I  force  its  still-born  lie, 

And  teach  thee  to  digest  it  in  thy  bile,  — 

But  I  will  merrily  mock  at  thee  the  while  : 
Such  venom  cannot  harm  me ;  for  I  sit 

On  a  fair  hill  of  name,  and  power,  and  purse, 
Too  high  for  any  shaft  of  thine  to  hit, 

Beyond  the  petty  reaching  of  thy  curse, 
Strong  in  good  purpose,  praise,  and  pregnant  wit : 

Husband  thy  hate  for  toads  of  thine  own  level, 
I  breathe  an  atmosphere  too  rare  for  thee  : 

Back  to  thy  trencher  at  the  witches'  revel, 
Too  long  they  wait  thy  goodly  company : 

Yet  know  thou  this,  —  I'll  crush  thee,  sorry  devil, 
If  ever  again  thou  wag  thy  tongue  at  me. 


154  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


THE    HAPPY   HOME. 

O  name  for  comfort,  refuge,  hope,  and  peace, 
O  spot  by  gratitude  and  memory  blest ! 

Where  as  in  brighter  worlds  "  the  wicked  cease 
From  troubling,  and  the  weaiy  are  at  rest," 
And  unfledg'd  loves  and  graces  have  their  nest : 

How  brightly  here  the  various  virtues  shine, 
And  nothing  said  or  done  is  seen  amiss ; 

While  sweet  affections  every  heart  entwine, 
And  differing  tastes  and  talents  all  unite, 
Like  hues  prismatic  blending  into  white, 

In  charity  to  man,  and  love  divine : 
Thou  little  kingdom  of  serene  delight, 

Heaven's  nursery  and  foretaste  !  O  what  bliss 

Where  earth  to  wearied  men  can  give  a  home  like  this. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  155 


THE   WRETCHED   HOME. 

Scene  of  disunion,  bickering,  and  strife, 

What  curse  has  made  thy  native  blessings  die  ? 
Why  do  these  broils  embitter  daily  life, 

And  cold  self-interest  form  the  strongest  tie  ? 

Hate,  ill  conceal' d,  is  flashing  from  the  eye, 
And  mutter' d  vengeance  curls  the  pallid  lip ; 

What  should  be  harmony  is  all  at  jar ;  — 
Doubt  and  reserve  love's  timid  blossoms  nip, 

And  weaken  nature's  bonds  to  ropes  of  sand ; 

While  dull  indifference  takes  the  icy  hand 
( Oh  chilling  touch ! )  —  of  constrained  fellowship : 

What  secret  demon  has  such  discord  fann'd  ? 
What  ill  committed  stirs  this  penal  war,  — 
Or  what  omitted  good  ?  —  Alas  !  that  such  things  are. 


156  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


THEORY. 

How  fair  and  facile  seems  that  upland  road, 

Surely  the  mountain  air  is  fresh  and  sweet, 
And  briskly  shall  I  bear  this  mortal  load 

With  well-brac'd  sinews,  and  unweary  feet ; 

How  dear  my  fellow-pilgrims  oft  to  meet 
O'ertaken,  as  to  reach  yon  blest  abode 

We  strive  together,  in  glad  hope  to  greet, 
With  angel  friends  and  our  approving  God, 

All  that  in  life  we  once  have  lov'd  so  well, 
So  that  we  lov'd  be  worthy :  her  bright  wings 
My  willing  spirit  plumes,  and  upward  springs 

Rejoicing,  over  crag,  and  fen,  and  fell, 
And  down,  or  up,  the  cliff's  precipitous  face, 
To  run  or  fly  her  buoyant  happy  race ! 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  157 


PRACTICE. 

This  body, —  O  the  body  of  this  death  ! 

Strive  as  thou  wilt,  do  all  that  mortal  can, 

This  is  the  sum,  a  man  is  but  a  man, 
And  weak  in  error  strangely  wandereth 

Down  flowery  lanes,  with  pain  and  peril  fraught, 

Conscious  of  what  he  doth,  and  what  he  ought. 
Alas,  —  but  wherefore  ?  —  scarce  my  plaintive  breath 

Wafts  its  faint  question  to  the  listening  sky, 
"When  thus  in  answer  some  kind  spirit  saith ; 

"  Man,  thou  art  mean,  altho'  thine  aim  be  high ; 
"  All  matter  hath  one  law,  concentring  strong 

"  To  some  attractive  point,  —  and  thy  world's  core 
"  Is  the  foul  seat  of  hell,  and  pain,  and  wrong  : 

"  Yet  courage,  man!  the  strife  shall  soon  be  o'er, 
"  And  that  poor  leprous  husk  sore  travailing  long, 

"  Shall  yet  cast  off  its  death  in  second  birth, 

"  And  flame  anew  a  heavenly  centred  earth ! " 

14 


158  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


RICHES. 

Heaps  upon  heaps,  —  hillocks  of  yellow  gold, 
Jewels,  and  hanging  silks,  and  piled -up  plate, 

And  marble  groups  in  beauty's  choicest  mould, 
And  viands  rare,  and  odours  delicate, 

And  art  and  nature,  in  divinest  works, 

Swell  the  full  pomp  of  my  triumphant  state 
With  all  that  makes  a  mortal  glad  and  great ; 

—  Ah  no,  not  glad ;  within  my  secret  heart 

The  dreadful  knowledge,  like  a  death-worm  lurks, 

That  all  this  dream  of  life  must  soon  depart ; 
And  the  hot  curse  of  talents  misapplied 

Blisters  my  conscience  with  its  burning  smart, 
So  that  I  long  to  fling  my  wealth  aside : 
For  my  poor  soul,  when  its  rich  mate  hath  died, 
Must  lie  with  Dives,  spoiled,  of  all  its  pride. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  159 


POVERTY. 

The  sun  is  bright  and  glad,  but  not  for  me, 

My  heart  is  dead  to  all  but  pain  and  sorrow, 
Nor  care  nor  hope  have  I  in  all  I  see, 

Save  from  the  fear  that  I  may  starve  to-morrow ; 
And  eagerly  I  seek  uncertain  toil, 

Leaving  my  sinews  in  the  thankless  furrow, 
To  drain  a  scanty  pittance  from  the  soil, 
While  my  life's  lamp  burns  dim  for  lack  of  oil. 

Alas,  for  you,  poor  famishing  patient  wife, 
And  pale-faced  little  ones  !  your  feeble  cries 

Torture  my  soul :  worse  than  a  blank  is  life 
Beggar'd  of  all  that  makes  that  life  a  prize : 

Yet  one  thing  cheers  me,  —  is  not  life  the  door 

To  that  rich  world  where  no  one  can  be  poor  ? 


160  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


LIGHT. 

A  glorious  vision :  as  I  walk'd  at  noon 

The  children  of  the  sun  came  thronging  round  me, 
In  shining  robes  and  diamond-studded  shoon ; 
And  they  did  wing  me  up  with  them,  and  soon, 

In  a  bright  dome  of  wondrous  width  I  found  me, 
Set  all  with  beautiful  eyes,  whose  wizard  rays, 

Shed  on  my  soul,  in  strong  enchantment  bound  me ; 
And  so  I  look'd  and  look'd  with  dazzled  gaze, 

Until  my  spirit  drank  in  so  much  light 
That  I  grew  like  the  sons  of  that  glad  place, 

Transparent,  lovely,  pure,  serene,  and  bright ; 
Then  did  they  call  me  brother :  and  there  grew 

Swift  from  my  sides  broad  pinions  gold  and  white, 
And  with  that  happy  flock  a  brilliant  thing  I  flew ! 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  161 


DARKNESS. 

A  terpv-ible  dream :  I  lay  at  dead  of  night 

Tortured  by  some  vague  fear ;  it  seem'd  at  first 
Like  a  small  ink-spot  on  the  ceiling  white, 
To  a  black  bubble  swelling  in  my  sight, 

And  then  it  grew  to  a  balloon,  and  burst ; 
Then  was  I  drown' d,  as  with  an  ebon  stream, 

And  those  dark  waves  quench' d  all  mine  inward 
light, 
That  in  my  saturated  mind  no  gleam 

Remain' d  of  beauty,  peace,  or  love,  or  right : 
I  was  a  spirit  of  darkness  !  —  yet  I  knew 

I  could  not  thus  be  left ;  it  was  but  a  dream ; 
Still  felt  I  full  of  horror ;  for  a  crew 

Of  shadowy  its  hemmed-in  my  harried  mind, 

And  all  my  dread  was  waking  mad  and  blind. 


14* 


162  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


POETRY. 

To  touch,  the  heart,  and  make  its  pulses  thrill, 

To  raise  and  purify  the  grovelling  soul, 
To  warm  with  generous  heat  the  selfish  will, 

To  conquer  passion  with  a  mild  controul, 
And  the  whole  man  with  nobler  thoughts  to  fill, 

These  are  thine  aims,  O  pure  unearthly  power, 
These  are  thine  influences ;  and  therefore  those 
Whose  wings  are  clogged  with  evil,  are  thy  foes, 

And  therefore  these,  who  have  thee  for  their  dower, 
The  widowed  spirits  with  no  portion  here, 

Eat  angels'  food,  the  manna  thou  dost  shower : 
For  thine  are  pleasures,  deep,  and  tried,  and  true, 

Whether  to  read,  or  write,  or  think,  or  hear, 
By  the  gross  million  spurn'd,  and  fed  on  by  the  few. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  163 


PROSE. 

That  the  fine  edge  of  intellect  is  dulled 

And  mortal  ken  with  cloudy  films  obscure, 
And  the  numb'd  heart  so  deep  in  stupor  lulled 

That  virtue's  self  is  weak  its  love  to  lure, 

But  pride  and  lust  keep  all  the  gates  secure, 
This  is  thy  fall,  O  man ;  and  therefore  those 
Whose  aims  are  earthly,  like  pedestrian  prose, 

The  selfish,  useful,  money-making  plan, 
Cold  language  of  the  desk,  or  quibbling  bar, 

Where  in  hard  matter  sinks  ideal  man  : 
Still,  worldly  teacher,  be  it  from  me  far 

Thy  darkness  to  confound  with  yon  bright  band 
Poetic  all,  though  not  so  named  by  men, 
Who  have  swayed  royally  the  mighty  pen, 

And  now  as  kings  in  prose  on  fame's  clear  summit 
stand, 


164  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


FRIENDSHIP,  CONSTRAINED. 

Gentle,  but  generous,  modest,  pure,  and  learned, 
Ready  to  hear  the  fool,  or  teach  the  wise, 

"With  gracious  heart  that  all  within  him  burned 
To  wipe  the  tears  from  virtue's  blessed  eyes 
And  help  again  the  struggling  right  to  rise, 

Such  an  one,  like  a  god,  have  I  discerned 
"Walking  in  goodness  this  polluted  earth, 

And  cannot  choose  but  love  him :  to  my  soul, 

Swayed  irresistibly  with  sweet  controul, 

So  rare  and  noble  seems  thy  precious  worth, 

That  the  young  fibres  of  my  happier  heart, 
Like  tendrils  to  the  sun,  are  stretching  forth 
To  twine  around  thy  fragrant  excellence, 

O  child  of  love ;  —  so  dear  to  me  thou  art, 
So  coveted  by  me  thy  good  influence ! 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  165 


ENMITY,    COMPELLED. 

Coarse,  vain,  and  vulgar,  ignorant,  and  mean, 
Sensual  and  sordid  in  each  hope  and  aim, 

Selfish  in  appetite,  and  basely  keen 

In  tracking  out  gross  pleasure's  guilty  game 
With  eager  eye,  and  bad  heart  all  on  flame, 

Such  an  one,  like  an  Afreet,  nave  I  seen 

Shedding  o'er  this  fair  world  his  balefire  light, 

And  can  I  love  him  ?  —  far  be  from  my  thought 

To  show  not  such  the  charities  I  ought,  — 
But  from  his  converse  should  I  reap  delight, 

Nor  bid  the  tender  sproutings  of  my  mind 
Shrink  from  his  evil,  as  from  bane  and  blight, 
Nor  back  upon  themselves  my  feelings  roll  ? 

O  moral  monster,  loveless  and  unkind, 

Thou  art  as  wormwood  to  my  secret  soul ! 


166  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


PHILANTHROPIC. 

Come  near  me,  friends  and  brothers ;  hem  me  round 

With  the  dear  faces  of  my  fellow-men, 
The  music  of  your  tongues  with  magic  sound 

Shall  cheer  my  heart  and  make  me  happiest  then  ; 
My  soul  yearns  over  you  :  the  sitting  hen 

Cowers  not  more  fondly  o'er  her  callow  brood 
Than  in  most  kind  excuse  of  all  your  ill, 
My  heart  is  warm  and  patient  for  your  good ; 

0  that  my  power  were  measured  by  my  will ; 
Then  would  I  bless  you  as  I  love  you  still, 

Forgiving,  as  I  trust  to  be  forgiven : 
Here,  vilest  of  my  kind,  take  hand  and  heart, 

1  also  am  a  man  —  'tis  all  thou  art, 

An  erring  needy  pensioner  of  heaven, 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  167 


MISANTHROPIC. 

How  long  am  I  to  smell  this  tainted  air, 

And  in  a  pest-house  draw  my  daily  breath,  — 
Where  nothing  but  the  sordid  fear  of  death 
Restrains  from  grander  guilt  than  cowards  dare  ? 
O  loathsome,  despicable,  petty  race, 

Low  counterfeits  of  devils,  villanous  men, 
Sooner  than  learn  to  love  a  human  face, 

I'll  make  my  home  in  the  hyaena's  den, 

Or  live  with  newts  and  bull-frogs  on  the  fen : 
These  at  least  are  honest ;  — but  for  man, 
The  best  will  cheat  and  use  you  if  he  can ; 

The  best  is  only  varnished  o'er  with  good ; 
Subtle  for  self,  for  damning  mammon  keen, 
Cruel,  luxurious,  treacherous,  proud  and  mean, — 

Great  Justice,  haste  to  crush  the  viper's  brood : 
And  I  too  am  —  a  man !  —  O  wretched  fate 
To  be  the  thing  I  scorn  —  more  than  I  hate. 


168  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


COUNTRY. 

Most  tranquil,  innocent,  and  happy  life, 

Full  of  the  holy  joy  chaste  nature  yields, 
Redeem'd  from  care,  and  sin,  and  the  hot  strife 
That  rings  around  the  smok'd  unwholesome  dome 

Where  mighty  Mammon  his  black  sceptre  wields,  — 
Here  let  me  rest  in  humble  cottage  home, 

Here  let  me  labour  in  the  enamell'd  fields : 
How  pleasant  in  these  ancient  woods  to  roam 
With  kind-eyed  friend,  or  kindly-teaching  book ; 

Or  the  fresh  gallop  on  the  dew-dropt  heath, 
Or  at  fair  eventide  with  feathered  hook 
To  strike  the  swift  trout  in  the  shallow  brook, 

Or  in  the  bower  to  twine  the  jasmin  wreath, 
Or  at  the  earliest  blush  of  summer  morn 

To  trim  the  bed,  or  turn  the  new-mown  hay, 
Or  pick  the  perfum'd  hop,  or  reap  the  golden  corn  ! 

So  should  my  peaceful  life  all  smoothly  glide  away. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  169 


TOWN. 

Enough  of  lanes,  and  trees,  and  valleys  green, 
Enough  of  briary  wood,  and  hot  chalk-down, 

I  hate  the  startling  quiet  of  the  scene, 

And  long  to  hear  the  gay  glad  hum  of  town : 
My  garden  be  the  garden  of  the  Graces, 

Flow'rs  full  of  smiles,  with  fashion  for  their  queen, 
My  pleasant  fields  be  crowds  of  joyous  faces, 

The  brilliant  rout,  the  concert,  and  the  ball,  — 

These  be  my  joys  in  endless  carnival ! 
For  I  do  lo-the  that  sickening  solitude, 

That  childkh  hunting-up  of  flies  and  weeds, 
Or  worse,  the  company  of  rustics  rude, 

Whose  only  hopes  are  bound  in  clods  and  seeds  : 
Out  on  it !  let  me  live  in  town  delight, 
And  for  your  tedious  country-mornings  bright 
Give  me  gay  London  with  its  noon  and  night. 


15 


170  CONTRASTED    SONNETS, 


WORLDLY  AND  WEALTHY. 

Idolator  of  gold,  I  love  thee  not, 

The  orbits  of  our  hearts  are  sphered  afar, 

In  lieu  of  tuneful  sympathies,  I  wot, 
My  thoughts  and  thine  are  all  at  utter  jar, 

Because  thou  judgest  by  what  men  have  got, 
Heeding  but  lightly  what  they  do,  or  are : 
Alas,  for  thee  !  this  lust  of  gold  shall  mar, 

Like  leprous  stains,  the  tissue  of  thy  lot, 

And  drain  the  natural  moisture  from  thy  heart ; 
Alas  !  thou  reckest  not  how  poor  thou  art, 

Weigh'd  in  the  balances  of  truth,  how  vain : 
O  wrecking  mariner,  fling  out  thy  freight, 
Or  founder  with  the  heavily  sinking  weight ; 

No  longer  dote  upon  thy  treasured  gain, 

Or  quick,  and  sure  to  come,  the  hour  shall  be, 
When  mene  tekel  shall  be  sentenced  thee. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  171 


WISE   AND   WORTHY. 

Rather  be  thou  my  counsellor  and  friend, 

Good  man  though  poor,  whose  treasure  with  thy 
heart 

Is  stored  and  set  upon  that  better  part, 
Choice  of  thy  wisdom,  without  waste  or  end, 
And  full  of  profits  that  to  pleasures  tend : 

How  cheerful  is  thy  face,  how  glad  thou  art ! 
Using  the  world  with  all  its  bounteous  store 

Of  richest  blessings,  comforts,  loves,  and  joys, 
Which  thine  all-healthy  hunger  prizeth  more 

Than  the  gorg'd  fool  whom  sinful  surfeit  cloys ; 
Still,  not  forgetful  of  thy  nobler  self, 

The  breath  divine  within  thee,  —  but  with  care 

Cherishing  the  faint  spark  that  glimmereth  there, 
Nor  by  Brazilian  slavery  to  pelf 

Plunging  thy  taper  into  poison' d  air. 


172  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


LIBERALITY. 

Give  while  thou  canst,  it  is  a  godlike  thing, 

Give  what  thou  canst,  thou  shalt  not  find  it  loss, 
Yea,  sell  and  give,  much  gain  such  barteries  bring, 

Yea,  all  thou  hast,  and  get  fine  gold  for  dross  : 
Still,  see  thou  scatter  wisely ;  for  to  fling 

Good  seed  on  rocks,  or  sands,  or  thorny  ground, 
Were  not  to  copy  Him,  whose  generous  cross 
Hath  this  poor  world  with  rich  salvation  crown'd. 
And,  when   thou  look'st  on    woes    and  want 
around, 
Knowing  that  God  hath  lent  thee  all  thy  wealth, 

That  better  it  is  to  give  than  to  receive, 
That  riches  cannot  buy  thee  joy  nor  health,— 
Why  hinder  thine  own  welfare  ?  thousands  grieve 
Whom  if  thy  pitying  hand  will  but  relieve, 
It  shall  for  thine  own  wear  the  robe  of  gladness 
weave. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  173 


MEANNESS. 

Where  vice  is  virtue,  thou  art  still  despis'd, 
O  petty  loathsome  love  of  hoarded  pelf, 

Ev'n  in  the  pit  where  all  things  vile  are  priz'd, 
Still  is  there  found  in  Lucifer  himself 

Spirit  enough  to  hate  thee,  sordid  thing : 
Thank  Heav'n !  I  own  in  thee  nor  lot  nor  part; 

And  though  to  many  a  sin  and  folly  cling 
The  worse  weak  fibres  of  my  weedy  heart, 

Yet  to  thy  withered  lips  and  snake-like  eye 
My  warmest  welcome  is,  Depart,  depart, 
For  to  my  sense  so  foul  and  base  thou  art 

I  would  not  stoop  to  thee  to  reach  the  sky : 
Aroint  thee,  filching  hand,  and  heart  of  stone  ! 
Be  this  thy  doom,  with  conscience  left  alone 
Learn  how  like  death  thou  art,  unsated  selfish  one. 


15 


* 


174  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


ANCIENT. 

My  sympathies  are  all  with  times  of  old, 
I  cannot  live  with  things  of  yesterday, 
Upstart,  and  flippant,  foolish,  weak,  and  gay, 
But  spirits  cast  in  a  severer  mould, 
Of  solid  worth,  like  elemental  gold  : 

I  love  to  wander  o'er  the  shadowy  past, 

Dreaming  of  dynasties  long  swept  away, 

And  seem  to  find  myself  almost  the  last 

Of  a  time-honoured  race,  decaying  fast: 
For  I  can  dote  upon  the  rare  antique, 

Conjuring  up  what  story  it  might  tell, 
The  bronze,  or  bead,  or  coin,  or  quaint  relique ; 

And  in  a  desert  could  delight  to  dwell 
Among  vast  ruins,  —  Tadmor's  stately  halls, 
Old  Egypt's  giant  fanes,  or  Babel's  mouldering  walls. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  175 


MODERN. 

Behold,  I  stand  upon  a  speck  of  earth, 
To  work  the  works  allotted  me,  —  and  die, 

Glad  among  toils  to  snatch  a  little  mirth, 
And,  when  I  must,  unmurmuring  down  to  lie 

In  the  same  soil  that  gave  me  food  and  birth : 
For  all  that  went  before  me,  what  care  I  ? 
The  past,  the  future,  —  these  are  but  a  dream ; 

I  want  the  tangible  good  of  present  worth, 

And  heed  not  wisps  of  light  that  dance  and  gleam 
Over  the  marshes  of  the  foolish  past : 
We  are  a  race  the  best,  because  the  last, 

Improving  all,  and  happier  day  by  day 

To  think  our  chosen  lot  hath  not  been  cast 

In  those  old  puerile  times,  discreetly  swept  away. 


176  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


SPIRIT. 

Throw  me  from  this  tall  cliff, — my  wings  are  strong, 

The  hurricane  is  raging  fierce  and  high, 
My  spirit  pants,  and  all  in  heat  I  long 

To  struggle  upward  to  a  purer  sky, 

And  tread  the  clouds  above  me  rolling  by ; 
Lo,  thus  into  the  buoyant  air  I  leap 

Confident,  and  exulting,  at  a  bound, 
Swifter  than  whirlwinds,  happily  to  sweep 

On  fiery  wing  the  reeling  world  around : 
Off  with  my  fetters  !  —  who  shall  hold  me  back? 
My  path  lies  there,  —  the  lightning's  sudden  track, 
O'er  the  blue  concave  of  the  fathomless  deep, — 

Thus  can  I  spurn  matter,  and  space,  and  time, 

Soaring  above  the  universe  sublime. 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  177 


MATTER. 

In  the  deep  clay  of  yonder  sluggish  flood 
The  huge  behemoth  makes  his  ancient  lair, 
And  with  slow  caution  heavily  wallows  there, 

Moving  above  the  stream,  a  mound  of  mud ! 
And  near  him  stretching  to  the  river's  edge 

In  dense  dark  grandeur,  stands  the  silent  wood, 
Whose  unpierced  jungles,    choked    with   rotting 
sedge, 

Prison  the  damp  air  from  the  freshening  breeze : 
Lo  !  the  rhinoceros  comes  down  this  way 

Thundering  furiously  on,  —  and  snorting  sees 
The  harmless  monster  at  his  awkward  play, 

And  rushes  on  him  from  the  crashing  trees,  — 
A  dreadful  shock  as  when  the  Titans  hurl'd 
Against  high  Jove  the  Himalayan  world. 


178  CONTRASTED    SONNETS. 


LIFE. 

0  Life,  O  glorious  !  sister-twin  of  light, 
Essence  of  Godhead,  energizing  love, 

Hail,  gentle  conqueror  of  dead  cold  night, 
Hail,  on  the  waters  kindly-brooding  dove  ! 

1  feel  thee  near  me,  in  me :  thy  strange  might 

Flies   through  my   bones    like   fire,  —  my  heart 
beats  high 
With  thy  glad  presence :  pain  and  fear  and  care 

Hide  from  the  lightning  laughter  of  mine  eye, 
No  dark  unseasonable  terrors  dare 

Disturb  me,  revelling  in  the  luxury, 
The  new-found  luxury  of  life  and  health, 

This  blithesome  elasticity  of  limb, 

This  pleasure,  in  which  all  my  senses  swim, 
This  deep  outpouring  of  a  creature's  wealth ! 


CONTRASTED    SONNETS.  179 


DEATH. 

Ghastly  and  weak,  O  dreadful  monarch  Death, 
With  failing  feet  I  near  thy  silent  realm, 

"Upon  my  brain  strikes  chill  thine  icy  breath, 
My  fluttering  heart  thy  terrors  overwhelm. 

Thou  sullen  pilot  of  life's  crazy  bark, 

How  treacherously  thou  puttest  down  the  helm 
Just  where  smooth  eddies  hide  the  sunken  rock ; 

While  close  behind  follows  the  hungry  shark 
Snuffing  his  meal  from  far,  swift  with  black  fin 
The  foam  dividing, — ha  !  that  sudden  shock 

Splits  my  frail  skiff;  upon  the  billows  dark 

A  drowning  wretch  awhile  struggling  I  float, 
Till,  just  as  I  had  hoped  the  wreck  to  win, 

I  feel  thy  bony  fingers  clutch  my  throat. 


180 


ELLEN   GRAY. 

THE  EXCUSE   OF   AN  UNFORTUNATE. 

A  starless  night,  and  bitter  cold ; 
The  low  dun  clouds  all  wildly  roll'd 

Scudding  before  the  blast, 
And  cheerlessly  the  frozen  sleet 
Adown  the  melancholy  street 

Swept  onward  thick  and  fast ; 

When  crouched  at  an  unfriendly  door, 
Faint,  sick,  and  miserably  poor, 

A  silent  woman  sate, 
She  might  be  young,  and  had  been  fair, 
But  from  her  eye  look'd  out  despair, 

All  dim  and  desolate. 


ELLEN    GRAY.  181 

Was  I  to  pass  her  coldly  by, 
Leaving  her  there  to  pine  and  die, 

The  live-long  freezing  night? 
The  secret  answer  of  my  heart 
Told  me  I  had  not  done  my  part 

In  flinging  her  a  mite  ; 

She  look'd  her  thanks, — then  droop'd  her  head; 
"  Have  you  no  friend,  no  home  ? "  I  said : 

"  Get  up  poor  creature,  come, 
"  You  seem  unhappy,  faint,  and  weak, 
"How  can  I  serve  or  save  you, — speak, 

"  Or  whither  help  you  home  ? " 

"  Alas,  kind  sir,  poor  Ellen  Gray 

"  Has  had  no  friend  this  many  a  day, 

"  And,  but  that  you  seem  kind,  — 
"  She  has  not  found  the  face  of  late 
"  That  look'd  on  her  in  aught  but  hate, 

11  And  still  despairs  to  find : 

"  And  for  a  home,  —  would  I  had  none  ! 

"  The  home  I  have,  a  wicked  one, 
16 


182  ELLEN    GRAY. 

"  They  will  not  let  me  in, 
"  Till  I  can  fee  my  jailor's  hands 
"  "With  the  vile  tribute  she  demands, 

"  The  wages  of  my  sin : 

"  I  see  your  goodness  on  me  frown ; 
"  Yet  hear  the  veriest  wretch  on  town, 

"  While  yet  in  life  she  may, 
"  Tell  the  sad  story  of  her  grief, — 
"  Though  heav'n  alone  can  bring  relief 

"  To  guilty  Ellen  Gray. 

"  My  mother  died  when  I  was  born  : 
"And  I  was  flung,  a  babe  forlorn, 

"Upon  the  work -house  floor; 
"  My  father,  — would  I  knew  him  not ! 
"  A  squalid  thief,  a  reckless  sot, 

"  —  I  dare  not  tell  you  more. 

"  And  I  was  bound  an  infant-slave, 

"  With  no  one  near  to  love,  or  save 

"  From  cruel  sordid  men, 


ELLEN    GRAY.  183 

"  A  friendless,  famish'd  factory  child, 
"  Morn,  noon,  and  night  I  toil'd  and  toil'd,  — 
"Yet  was  I  happy  then  ; 

"  My  heart  was  pure,  my  cheek  was  fair, 
"  Ah,  would  to  God  a  cancer  there 

"  Had  eaten  out  its  way ! 
"  For  soon  my  tasker,  dreaded  man, 
"  With  treacherous  wiles  and  arts  began 

"  To  mark  me  for  his  prey. 

"  And  month  by  month  he  vainly  strove 
"  To  light  the  flame  of  lawless  love 

"  In  my  most  loathing  breast; 
"  Oh,  how  I  fear'd  and  hated  him, 
"  So  basely  kind,  so  smoothly  grim, 

"My  terror,  and  my  pest! 

"  Till  one  day,  at  that  prison-mill, — 

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184  ELLEN    GRAY. 

"  Thenceforward  droop'd  my  stricken  head ; 
"I  liv'd,  —  I  died,  a  life  of  dread, 

"  Lest  they  should  guess  my  shame ; 
"  But  weeks  and  months  would  pass  away, 
"  And  all  too  soon  the  bitter  day 

"  Of  wrath  and  ruin  came  ; 

"  I  could  not  hide  my  alter' d  form : 
"  Then  on  my  head  the  fearful  storm 

"  Of  jibe  and  insult  burst : 
"  Men  only  mocked  me  for  my  fate, 
"  But  women's  scorn  and  women's  hate 

"  Me,  their  poor  sister,  curst. 

"  O  woman,  had  thy  kindless  face 
"  But  gentler  look'd  on  my  disgrace, 

"  And  heal'd  the  wounds  it  gave  !  — 
"  I  was  a  drowning  sinking  wretch, 
"  Whom  no  one  lov'd  enough  to  stretch 

"  A  finger  out  to  save. 

"  They  tore  my  baby  from  my  heart, 
"  And  lock'd  it  in  some  hole  apart 
"  Where  I  could  hear  its  cry, 


ELLEN    GRAY.  185 

"  Such  was  the  horrid  poor-house  law ;  — 
"  Its  little  throes  I  never  saw, 
"  Although  I  heard  it  die  ! 

"  Still  the  stone  hearts  that  ruled  the  place 
"  Let  me  not  kiss  my  darling's  face, 

"  My  little  darling  dead ; 
"  O  I  was  mad  with  rage  and  hate, 
"  And  yet  all  sullenly  I  sate, 

"  And  not  a  word  I  said. 

"  I  would  not  stay,  I  could  not  bear 
"  To  breathe  the  same  infected  air 

"  That  kill'd  my  precious  child; 
"  I  watched  my  time,  and  fled  away 
"  The  livelong  night,  the  livelong  day, 

"  With  fear  and  anguish  wild : 

"  Till  down  upon  a  river's  bank, 
"  Twenty  leagues  off,  fainting,  I  sank, 
"  And  only  long'd  to  die ; 

16* 


186  ELLEN    GRAY. 

"  I  had  no  hope,  no  home,  no  friend, 
"  No  God !  —  I  sought  but  for  an  end 
"  To  life  and  misery. 

"  Ah,  lightly  heed  the  righteous  few, 
"  How  little  to  themselves  is  due, 

"  But  all  things  given  to  them ; 
"  Yet  the  unwise,  because  untaught, 
"  The  wandering  sheep,  because  unsought, 

"  They  heartlessly  condemn  : 

"  And  little  can  the  untempted  dream, 
"  While  gliding  smoothly  on  life's  stream 

"  They  keep  the  letter-laws, 
"  What  they  would  be,  if,  tost  like  me 
11  Hopeless  upon  life's  barren  sea, 

"  They  knew  how  hunger  gnaws. 

"  I  was  half-starved,  I  tried  in  vain 
"  To  get  me  work  my  bread  to  gain ; 

"  Before  me  flew  my  shame  ; 
"  Cold  Charity  put  up  her  purse, 
"  And  none  look'd  on  me  but  to  curse 
"  The  child  of  evil  fame. 


ELLEN    GRAY.  167 

"  Alas,  why  need  I  count  by  links 

"  The  heavy  lengthening  chain  that  sinks 

"  My  heart,  my  soul,  my  all  ? 
"  I  still  was  fair,  though  hope  was  dead, 
"  And  so  I  sold  myself  for  bread, 

"  And  lived  upon  my  fall : 

"  Now  was  I  reckless,  bold  and  bad, 
"  My  love  was  hate,  —  I  grew  half-mad 

"  With  thinking  on  my  wrongs ; 
"  Disease,  and  pain,  and  giant-sin 
11  Rent  body  and  soul,  and  rag'd  within ! 

11  Such  need  to  guilt  belongs. 

"  And  what  I  was,  —  such  still  am  I ; 
"  Afraid  to  live,  unfit  to  die,  — 

"And  yet  I  hoped  I  might 
"  Meet  my  best  friend  and  lover  —  Death 
"  In  the  fierce  frowns  and  frozen  breath 

"  Of  tliis  December  night. 

"  My  tale  is  told  :  my  heart  grows  cold ; 
"  I  cannot  stir,  —  yet,  —  kind  good  sir, 


188  ELLEN    GRAY. 

"  I  know  that  you  will  stay,  — 
"  And  God  is  kinder  e'en  than  you, — 
"  Can  He  not  look  with  pity  too 

"  On  wretched  Ellen  Gray  ? " 

Her  eye  was  fix'd ;  she  said  no  more, 
But  propp'd  against  the  cold  street-door 

She  leaned  her  fainting  head  ; 
One  moment  she  look'd  up  and  smil'd, 
Full  of  new  hope,  as  Mercy's  child, 

—  And  the  poor  girl  was  dead, 


189 


THE   AFRICAN   DESERT. 


SYNOPSIS. 

By  contemplating  a  guilty  death-bed,  the  mind  is  brought  to 
that  state  in  which  it  can  best  picture  the  desolation  of  nature. — 
The  desert.  —  Allusion  to  the  fable  of  the  cranes  and  pigmies.  — 
The  contrast  afforded  by  surrounding  countries.  —  The  omnipres- 
ent God.  —  Man  regarded  as  an  intruder  on  the  wastes  of  nature. — 
Exemplified  by  the  journey  and  fate  of  a  caravan  crossing  the 
desert.  —  In  detail.  —  An  African  sxmrise.  —  Approach  of  the  car- 
avan. —  Solitude.  —  The  father  and  child.  —  Mirage.  —  The  well 
in  sight.  —  The  simoom. —  The  stillness  that  succeeds. 


Go,  child  of  pity !  watch  the  sullen  glare 
That  lights  the  haggard  features  of  despair, 
As  upon  dying  guilt's  distracted  sight 
Rise  the  black  clouds  of  everlasting  night ; 
Drink  in  the  fever'd  eyeball's  dismal  ray, 
And  gaze  again,  —  and  turn  not  yet  away, 
Drink  in  its  anguish,  till  thy  heart  and  eye 
Reel  with  the  draught  of  that  sad  lethargy ; 


190  THE  AFRICAN  DESERT. 

Till  gloom  with  chilling  fears  thy  soul  congeal, 
And  on  thy  bosom  stamp  her  leaden  seal, 
Till  Melancholy  flaps  her  heavy  wings 
Above  thy  fancy's  light  imaginings, 
And  sorrow  wraps  thee  in  her  sable  shroud, 
And  terror  in  a  gathering  thunder-cloud ! 

Go,  call  up  darkness  from  his  dread  abode, 
Bid  desolation  fling  her  curse  abroad, 
—  Then  gaze  around  on  nature  !  —  ah,  how  drear, 
How  widow-like  she  sits  in  sadness  here : 
Lost  are  the  glowing  tints,  the  softening  shades, 
Her  sunny  meadows,  and  her  greenwood  glades ; 
No  grateful  flow'r  has  gemm'd  its  mother-earth, 
Rejoicing  in  the  blessedness  of  birth; 
No  blithesome  lark  has  wak'd  the  drowsy  day, 
No  sorrowing  dews  have  wept  themselves  away : 
Faded,  —  the  smiles  that  dimpled  in  her  vales ; 
Scatter' d,  the  fragrance  of  the  spicy  gales 
That  dew'd  her  locks  with  odours,  as  they  swept 
The  waving  groves,  or  in  the  rose-bud  slept ! 

Is  this  the  desert  ?  this  the  blighted  plain 
Where  silence  holds  her  melancholy  reign,  — 


THE  AFRICAN  DESERT.  191 

Where  foot  of  daring  mortal  scarce  hath  trod, 
But  all  around  is  solitude  —  and  God,  — 
And  where  the  sandy l  billows  overwhelm 
All  but  young  Fancy's  visionary  realm, 
In  which,  beneath  the  red  moon's  sickly  glance, 
Fantastic  forms  prolong  the  midnight  dance, 
And  pigmy  warriors,2  marshall'd  on  the  plains, 
Shout  high  defiance  to  the  invading  cranes  ? 

Regions  of  sorrow,  —  darkly  have  ye  frown' d 

Amidst  a  sunny  world  of  smiles  around : 

Luxurious  Persia,  bower'd  in  rosy  bloom, 

Breathes  the  sweet  air  of  Araby's  perfume, 

And  where  Italian  suns  in  glory  shine 

To  the  green  olive  clings  the  tendrill'd  vine ; 

In  yon  soft  bosom  of  Iberia's  vales 

The  orange-blossom  scents  the  lingering  gales, 

That  waft  its  sweets  to  where  Madeira's  plain 

With  emerald  beauty  gems  the  western  main : 


1  "  The  sands  roll  onward  in  waves  like  those  of  a  trouhled  sea." 
—  Goldsmith's  Animated  Nature,  Vol.  I.  p.  13. 

2  Some  account  of  the  Pigmies  may  be  found  in  Philostratus.  — 
Icon.  II.  c.  22. 


192  THE  AFRICAN  DESERT. 

The  winds  that  o'er  the  rough  iEgscan  sweep, 

Tamed  into  zephrys,  on  its  islands  sleep, 

And  where  rich  Delta  drinks  the  swelling  Nile, 

Auspicious  Ceres  spreads  her  golden  smile. 

But  on  Sahara 1  death  has  set  his  throne, 

And  reigns  in  sullen  majesty  alone: 

Unfurl' d  on  high  above  the  desert-king 

The  red 2  simoom  spreads  forth  its  fiery  wing ; 

The  spirits  of  the  storm  his  bidding  wait, 

Gigantic  shadows  swell  his  awful  state, 

And  circling  furies  hover  round  his  head, 

To  crown  with  flames  the  tyrant  of  the  dead ! 

The  desert  shrank  beneath  him,  as  he  pass'd, 

Borne  on  the  burning  pinions  of  the  blast ; 

He  breath'd,  —  and  solitude  sat  pining  there  ; 

He  spake,  —  and  silence  hush'd  the  listening  air ; 

He  frown'd,  —  and  blighted  nature  scarce  could  fly 

The  lightning  glances  of  her  monarch's  eye, 

But  where  he  look'd  in  withering  fury  down, 

A  dying  desert  knit  its  giant  frown  ! 


1  Sahara,  or  Zara,  the  Great  Desert  of  Africa. 

2  "  That  extreme  redness  in  the  air,  a  sure  presage  of  the  com- 
ing of  the  simoom."  —  Bruce,  Vol.  IV.  p.  558. 


THE  AFRICAN  DESERT.  193 

Desolate  wilds,  —  creation's  barren  grave, 
"Where  dull  as  Lethe  rolls  the  desert- wave, 
How  sparingly  with  warm  existence  rife 
Have  ye  rejoic'd  in  love,  or  teem'd  with  life. 
Can  it  then  be  in  solitudes  so  drear, 
That  utter  nothing  has  its  dwelling  here  ?  — 
Hence, — thought  of  darkness ! — o'er  the  sandy  flood 
Broods  the  great  Spirit  of  a  present  God : 
He  is,  where  other  being  may  not  be ; 
Space  cannot  bind  Him,  —  nor  infinity  ! 
Deeper  than  thought  has  ever  dared  to  stray, 
Higher  than  fancy  wing'd  her  wondering  way, 
Beyond  the  beaming  of  the  furthest  star, 
Beyond  the  pilgrim-comet's  distant  car, 
Beyond  all  worlds,  and  glorious  suns  unseen, 
He  is,  and  will  be,  and  has  ever  been  ! 
Nor  less,  —  where  the  huge  iceberg  lifts  its  head, 
Dim  as  a  dream,  from  ocean's  polar  bed ; 
Or  where  in  softer  climes  creation  glows, 
And  Paphos  blushes  from  its  banks  of  rose, 
Or  where  fierce  suns  the  panting  desert  sear,  — 
He  is,  and  was,  and  ever  will  be,  here  ! 

17 


194  THE    AFRICAN    DESERT. 

But  would  thy  daring  spirit,  child  of  man, 
The  secret  chambers  of  the  desert  scan, 
Curtain' d  with  flames,  and  tenanted  by  death, 
Fann'd  by  the  tempest  of  Sirocco's  breath  ? 
With  crested  Azrael l  shall  a  mortal  strive, 
Or  breathe  the  gales  of  pestilence,  and  live  ? 
O  then,  let  avarice  his  hand  refrain, 
Nor  tempt  the  billows  of  that  fiery  main, 
Let  patience,  toil,  and  courage  nobly  dare 
Far  other  deeds  than  fruitless  labours  there, 
Let  dauntless  enterprize,  with  generous  zeal, 
Toil,  not  unlaurell'd,  for  her  fellows'  weal, 
But  be  the  howling  wilderness  untrod, 
And  trackless  still,  Sahara's  barren  flood. 

Lo,  from  the  streaming  east,  a  blaze  of  light 
Has  swept  to  distant  shores  astonish'd  night, 
Darkness  has  snatch'd  his  spangled  robe  away, 
And  in  full  glory  shines  the  new-born  day ; 2 
Rejoice,  ye  flowery  vales,  —  ye  verdant  isles 
With  the  glad  sunbeams  weave  your  rosy  smiles, 

1  Azrciel,  the  angel  of  death. 

2  A  morning  near  the  equator  has  no  twilight. 


THE    AFRICAN    DESEE.T.  195 

The  bridegroom  of  the  earth  looks  down  in  love, 

And  blooms  in  freshened  beauty  from  above  ; 

Ye  waiting  dews,  leap  to  that  warm  embrace, 

With  fragrant  incense  bathe  his  blushing  face, 

Thou  earth  be  robed  in  joy !  —  But  one  sad  plain 

Exults  not,  smiles  not,  to  the  morn  again : 

Soon  as  the  sun  is  all  in  glory  drest 

The  conscious  desert  heaves 1  its  troubled  breast, 

Like  one,  arous'd  to  ceaseless  misery, 

That,  ever  dying,  strives  once  more  — to  die. 

And  can  Sahara  weep  ?  with  sudden  blaze 

Deep  in  her  bosom  pierce  the  cruel  rays, 

But  never  thence  one  tributary  stream 

Shall  soar  aloft  to  quench  the  maddening  beam : 

Tearless  in  agony,  fixt  in  grief,  alone, 

Pines  the  sad  daughter  of  the  torrid  zone, 

A  rocky  monument  of  anguish  deep, 

The  Niobe  of  Nature  cannot  weep ! 

Yet  from  her  bosom  steams  the  sandy  cloud, 

And  heavily  waves  above ;  —  a  lurid  shroud, 

1  "  The  solar  beams  causing  the  dust  of  the  desert  (as  they  em- 
phatically call  it)  to  rise  and  float  through  the  air."  —  Pottinger's 
Travels  to  Beloochistan,  p.  133. 


196  THE  AFRICAN  DESERT. 

Dense  as  the  wing  of  sorrow,  napping  o'er 
The  wither'd  heart,  that  may  not  blossom  more. 

Faint  o'er  that  burning  desert,  faint  and  slow, 
Failing  of  limb,  and  pale  with  looks  of  woe, 
Parch'd  by  the  hot  Siroc,  and  fiery  ray, 
The  wearied  kaffle  1  winds  its  toilsome  way. 
'Tis  long,  long  since  the  panther  bounded  by, 
And  howl'd  and  gaz'd  upon  them  wistfully;2 
Long  since  the  monarch  lion  from  his  lair 
Arose,  and  thunder'd  to  the  stagnant  air : 
No  wandering  ostrich  with  extended  wing 
Flaps  o'er  the  sands,  to  seek  the  distant  spring ; 
Bounding  from  rock 3  to  rock,  with  curious  scan 
No  wild  gazelle  surveys  the  stranger,  man ; 
Nor  does  the  famish'd  tiger's  lengthening  roar 
Speak  to  the  winds  and  wake  the  echoes  more. 

1  The  kaffle  or  caravan. 

3  These  animals  are  mentioned  as  inhabiting  the  skirts  of  the 
desert,  but  not  found  in  the  interior,  by  Mungo  Park,  Vol.  I.  p.  142. 

3  Buffon,  Hist.  Nat.  Vol.  VII.  p.  248.  —  "  Une  terre  morte,  &c., 
laquelle  ne  presente  que  des  roehers  debout  ou  renverses." 


THE    AFRICAN    DESERT.  197 

But  o'er  these  realms  of  sorrow,  drear  and  vast, 

In  hollow  dirges  moans  the  desert  blast, 

Or  breathing  o'er  the  plain  in  smothered  wrath 

Howls  to  the  skulls, 1  that  whiten  on  the  path. 

And  as  with  heavy  tramp  they  toil  along, 

Is  heard  no  more  the  cheering  Arab  song,  — 

No  more  the  wild  Bedouin's  joyous  shriek 

With  startling  homage  greets  his  wandering  shiek, 

Only  the  mutter' d  curse,  or  whisper' d  pray'r, 

Or  deep  death-rattle  wakes  the  sluggish  air. 

Behold  one  here,  who  till  to-day  has  been 

A  father,  and  with  bursting  bosom  seen 

His  last,  his  cherished  one,  whose  waning  eye 

Smiled  only  resignation,  droop  and  die ! 

Parch'd  by  the  heat,  those  lips  are  curl'd  and  pale, 

As  rose-leaves  withered  in  the  northern  gale ; 

Her  eye  no  more  its  silent  love  shall  speak, 

No  flush  of  life  shall  mantle  on  her  cheek;  — 


1  Skeletons  in  the  desert,  Denham  and  Clapperton,  Vol.  I.  pp. 
130,  131,  also  Buffon  in  the  passage  above  quoted.  —  "  Une  terre 
morte,  et  pour  ainsi  dire  eehorchee  par  les  vents,  laquelle  ne  presente 
que,  &c.  —  des  ossements." 

17  # 


198  THE    AFRICAN    DESERT. 

Yet  with  a  frenzied  fondness  to  his  child 
The  father  clung,  and  thought  his  darling  smil'd ; 
Ah,  yes  !  'tis  death  that  o'er  her  beauty  throws 
That  marble  smile  of  deep  and  dread  repose. 

What  thrilling  shouts  are  these  that  rend  the  sky, 
Whence  is  the  joy  that  lights  the  sunken  eye? 
On,  on,  they  speed  their  burning  thrist  to  slake 
In  the  blue 1  waters  of  yon  rippled  lake,  — 
Or  must  they  still  those  maddening  pangs  assuage 
In  the  sand-billows  of  the  false  mirage  ? 
Lo,  the  fair  phantom,  melting  to  the  wind, 
Leaves  but  the  sting  of  baffled  bliss  behind. 

Hope  smiles  again,  as  with  instinctive  haste 2 
The  panting  camels  rush  along  the  waste, 
And  snuff  the  grateful  breeze,  that  sweeping  by 
"Wafts  its  cool  fragrance  through  the  cloudless  sky. 


1  For  a  description  of  the  mirage,  see  Capt.  Lyon's  Travels,  p. 
347,  and  Burchardt's  Nubia,  p.  193.  —  "Its  colour  is  of  the  purest 
azure." 

2  The  rush  of  a  caravan  to  a  stream  in  the  desert,  is  well  de- 
scribed in  Buckingham's  Mesopotamia,  Vol.  II.  p.  8. 


THE  AFRICAN  DESERT.  199 

Swift  as  the  steed  that  feels  the  slacken'd  rein 

And  flies  impetuous  o'er  the  sounding  plain, 

Eager  as  bursting  from  an  Alpine  source 

The  winter  torrent  in  its  headlong  course, 

Still  hasting  on,  the  wearied  band  behold 

—  The  green  oase,  an  emerald  couch'd  in  gold ! 

And  now  the  curving  rivulet  they  desciy, 

That  bow  of  hope  upon  a  stormy  sky, 1 

Now  ranging  its  luxuriant  banks  of  green 

In  silent  rapture  gaze  upon  the  scene : 

His  graceful  arms  the  palm  was  waving  there 

Caught  in  the  tall  acacia's  tangled  hair, 

While  in  festoons  across  his  branches  slung 

The  gay  kossom  its  scarlet  tassels  hung ; 

The  flowering  colocynth  had  studded  round 

Jewels  of  promise  o'er  the  joyful  ground, 

And  where  the  smile  of  day  burst  on  the  stream, 

The  trembling  waters  glitter'd  in  the  beam. 


1  Brace's  Travels,  Vol.  IV.  p.  559. —  "The  simoom  — I  saw 
from  the  S.  E.  a  haze  come,  in  colour  like  the  purple  part  of  a 
rainbow,  &c,  a  kind  of  blush  upon  the  air,  a  meteor,  or  purple  haze." 


200  THE  AFRICAN  DESERT. 

It  comes,  the  blast  of  death  !  that  sudden  glare 
Tinges  with  purple  hues  the  stagnant  air ; 
Fearful  in  silence,  o'er  the  heaving  strand 
Sweeps T  the  wild  gale,  and  licks  the  curling  sand, 
While  o'er  the  vast  Sahara  from  afar 
Hushes  the  tempest  in  his  winged  car : 
Swift  from  their  bed  the  flame-like  billows  rise, 
Whirling  and  surging  to  the  copper  skies, 
As  when  Briareus  lifts  his  hundred  arms, 
Grasps  at  high  heav'n,  and  fills  it  with  alarms ; 
In  eddying  chaos  madly  mixt  on  high 
Gigantic  pillars  dance  2  along  the  sky, 
Or  stalk  in  awful  slowness  through  the  gloom, 
Or  track  the  coursers  of  the  dread  simoom, 


1  ar^U/u/Zoi  fa  kovIV  ilxtrcroviri  —  _yEsch.  Prom.  "V.  1091. 

2  Bruce,  (as  above.)  "We  were  here  at  once  surprised  and 
terrified  by  a  sight  surely  one  of  the  most  magnificent  in  the  world. 
In  that  vast  expanse  of  desert  from  W.  to  N.  W.  of  us  we  saw  a 
number  of  prodigious  pillars  of  sand,  at  times  moving  with  great 
celerity,  at  others  stalking  on  with  a  majestic  slowness ;  at  intervals 
we  thought  they  were  coming  in  a  few  minutes  to  overwhelm  us, 
&c.  Sometimes  they  were  broken  near  the  middle,  as  if  struck  with 
a  huge  cannon-shot."    See  also  Goldsmith's  An.  Nat.  Vol.  I.  p.  3631. 


THE  AFRICAN  DESERT.  201 

Or  clashing  in  mid  air,  to  ruin  hnrl'd, 

Fall  as  the  fragments  of  a  shatter'd  world ! 

Hush'd  is  the  tempest,  —  desolate  the  plain, 
Still'd  are  the  billows  of  that  troublous  main ; 
As  if  the  voice  of  death  had  check' d  the  storm, 
Each  sandy  wave  retains  its  sculptured  form : 
And  all  is  silence,  —  save  the  distant  blast 
That  howl'd,  and  mock'd  the  desert  as  it  pass'd; 
And  all  is  solitude,  —  for  where  are  they, 
That  o'er  Sahara  wound  their  toilsome  way  ? 
Ask  of  the  heav'ns  above,  that  smile  serene, 
Ask  that  burnt  spot,  no  more  of  lovely  green, 
Ask  of  the  whirlwind  in  its  purple  cloud, 
The  desert  is  their  grave,  the  sand  their  shroud. 1 


1  Denham  and  Clapp.  I.  16.  "The  overpowering  effect  of  a 
sudden  sand- wind,  when  near  the  close  of  the  desert,  often  destroys 
a  whole  kafila  (caravan)  already  weakened  by  fatigue,  &c."  —  and 
p.  63  — "  The  winds  scorch  as  they  pass  ;  and  bring  with  them 
billows  of  sand,  rolling  along  in  masses  frightfully  suffocating, 
which  sometimes  swallow  up  whole  caravans  and  armies." 


202 


THE   SUTTEES. 


SYNOPSIS. 

The  natural  beauty  of  Hindoostan  contrasted  with  its  moral 
depravity.  —  Approach  of  a  funeral  procession.  —  Hymn  of  the 
Brahmins.  —  The  widow.  —  Her  early  history.  —  The  scene  of 
the  funeral  pile.  —  Enthusiastic  feelings  of  the  victim.  —  The  pile 
is  fired.  —  Address  to  British  benevolence  in  behalf  of  the 
benighted  Hindoos. 


O  golden  shores,  primeval  home  of  man, 
How  glorious  is  thy  dwelling,  Hindoostan ! 
Thine  are  these  smiling  vallies,  bright  with  bloom, 
Wild  woods,  and  sandal-groves,   that  breathe  per- 
fume, 
Thine,  these  fair  skies,  —  where  morn's  returning  ray 
Has  swept  the  starry  robe  of  night  away, x 
And  gilt  each  dome,  and  minaret,  and  tow'r, 
Gemm'd  every  stream,  and  tinted  every  flow'r. 
But  dark  the  spirit  within  thee  ;  —  from  old  time 
Still  o'er  thee  rolls  the  whelming  flood  of  crime, 

1  JEsch.  Prom.  V.  24.  7roMiKuixm  vo§,  and  Orph.  Argon.  1026, 

dfTTg^JTW  Vt/£. 


THE    SUTTEES.  203 

Still  o'er  thee  broods  the  curse  of  guiltless  blood, 
That  shouts  for  vengeance  from  thy  reeking  sod; 
Deep-flowing  Ganges  in  his  rushy  bed 
Moans  a  sad  requiem  for  his  children  dead, 
And,  wafted  frequent  on  the  passing  gale, 
Rises  the  orphan's  sigh,  —  the  widow's  wail. 

Hark,  'tis  the  rolling  of  the  funeral  drum, 

The   white-robed   Brahmins   see,  they  come,  they 

come, 
Bringing,  with  frantic -shouts,  and  torch,  and  trump, 
And  mingled  signs  of  melancholy  pomp, 
That  livid  corpse,  borne  solemnly  on  high  — 
And  yon  faint  trembling  victim,  doom'd  to  die. 

Still,  as  with  measur'd  step  they  move  along, 
With  fiercer  joy  they  weave  the  mystic  song : 
Eswara, 1  crown'd  with  forests,  thee  they  praise, 
Birmha,  to  thee  the  full-ton' d  chorus  raise ; 


1  Eswara,  goddess  of  Nature.  Surya,  the  sun.  Varuna,  a  wa- 
ter-nymph. Peris,  or  spirits  of  a  certain  grade,  are  excluded  from 
paradise,  from  a  gate  of  which  Ganges  flows.  Kali,  goddess  of 
murder.  Aglys,  god  of  fire.  Pavaneh,  of  wind.  See  Maurice's 
Indian  Antiq. 


204  THE    SUTTEES. 

To  ocean,  —  where  the  loose  sail  mariners  furl, 
And  seek  in  coral  caves  the  virgin  pearl ; 
And  to  the  source  of  Ganga's  sacred  streams, 
Bright  with  the  gold  of  Surya's  morning  beams, 
Where  on  her  lotus -throne  Varuna  sings, 
And  weeping  Peris  lave  their  azure  wings : 
They  shout  to  Kali,  of  the  red  right  hand, 
Bid  Aglys  toss  on  high  the  kindled  brand, 
And  far  from  Himalaya's  frozen  steep, 
In  whirlwind-car  bid  dark  Pavanah  sweep : 
They  chant  of  one,  whom  Azrael  waits  to  guide 
O'er  the  black  gulf  of  death's  unfathom'd  tide ; 
Of  her,  whose  spotless  life  to  Seeva  giv'n, 
Bursts  for  her  lord  the  golden  gates  of  heav'n, 
Of  her,  —  who  thus  in  dreadful  triumph  led, 
Dares  the  unhallowed  bridal  of  the  dead ! 

And  there  in  silent  fear  she  stands  alone, 
The  desolate,  unpitied,  widow'd  one : 
Too  deeply  taught  in  life's  sad  tale  of  grief, 
In  the  calm  house  of  death  she  hopes  relief, 
For  few  the  pleasures  India's  daughter  knows, 
A  child  of  sorrow,  nursed  in  want  and  woes. 


THE    SUTTEES.  205 

Curst  from  the  womb,  how  oft  a  mother's  fear 

In  silence  o'er  thee  dropt  the  bitter  tear, 

Lest  a  stern  sire  to  Ganga's  holy  wave 

Should  madly  consecrate  the  life  he  gave : 

Cradled  on  superstition's  sable  wing 

In  joyless  gloom  passed  childhood's  early  spring, 

And  still,  as  budded  fair  thy  youthful  mind, 

None  bade  thee  seek,  none  taught  thee,  truth  to  find ; 

Poor  child !  that  never  raised  the  suppliant  pray'r, 

Nor  look'd  to  heav'n  and  saw  a  Father  there, 

Untutor'd  by  religion's  gentle  sway 

To  love,  believe,  be  happy,  and  obey. 

Betroth'd  in  artless  infancy  to  one 

Thy  warm  affections  never  beam'd  upon, 

How  shouldst  thou  smile,  when  ripe  in  beauty's  pride 

The  haughty  Hajah  claim'd  his  destin'd  bride  ? 

A  trembling  slave,  and  not  the  loving  wife, 

Pass'd  the  short  summer  of  thy  hapless  life  ; 1 

And  now  to  deck  that  bier,  that  pile  to  crown, 2 

His  fiery  sepulchre  becomes  —  thine  own. 

1  On  the  miserable  state  of  woman  in  India,  see  Ward  on 
Hindoostan,  Letter  VI.  In  p.  96  lie  says,  "  between  eight  and  nine 
hundred  widows,  are  burnt  every  year  in  the  Presidency  of  Bengal 
alone!  1818." 

3  Capt.  Man's  Picture  of  India,  p.  235. 
18 


206  THE    SUTTEES. 

And  must  it  be,  that  in  a  spot  so  fair 

Shall  rise  the  madden' d  shriek  of  wild  despair  ? 

This  lovely  spot,  where  glows  in  every  part 

The  smile  of  nature  on  the  pomp  of  art ; 

The  banian  spreads  its  hospitable  shade, 

The  bright  bird  warbles  in  the  leafy  glade, 

The  matted  palm,  and  wild  anana's  bloom, 

The  light  pagoda,  the  majestic  dome, 

With  emerald  plains,  and  ocean's  distant  bine, 

Cast  their  rich  tints  and  shadows  o'er  the  view. 

But  murder  here  must  wash  his  bloody  hand, 

And  superstition  shake  the  naming  brand, 

And  terror  cast  around  an  eager  eye 

To  look  for  one  to  save,  — where  none  is  nigh  ! 

Far  other  incense  than  the  breath  of  day 

From  that  dark  corpse  must  waft  the  soul  away, 

Far  other  moans  than  of  the  muffled  drum 

Herald  the  lingering  spirit  to  its  home : 

Yes,  —  thou  must  perish  ;  and  that  gentle  frame 

Must  struggle  frantic  with  the  circling  flame, 

Constant  in  weal  and  woe,  for  death,  for  life, 

The  victim  widow,  as  the  victim  wife. 


THE    SUTTEES.  207 

Hoping,  despairing,  —  friendless,  and  forlorn, 

The  death  she  may  not  fly,  she  strives  to  scorn : 

Lists  to  the  tale  that  bright-wing'd  Peris  wait 

To  waft  her  to  Kalaisa's  crystal  gate,1  — 

Thinks  how  her  car  of  fire  shall  speed  along, 

Hailed  by  high  praises,  and  Kinnura's  song, — 

And  upward  gazing  in  a  speechless  trance, 

Darts  earnestly  the  keen  ecstatic  glance, 

Till  rapt  imagination  cleaves  the  sky, 

And  hope  delusive  points  the  way,  —  to  die. 

Who  hath  not  felt,  —  in  some  celestial  hour, 

When  fear's  dark  thunder-clouds  have  ceas'd  to  lour, 

When  angels  beckon  on  the  fluttering  soul 

To  realms  of  bliss  beyond  her  mortal  goal, 

When  heavenly  glories  bursting  on  the  sight, 

The  raptur'd  spirit  bathes  in  seas  of  light, 

And  soars  aloft  upon  the  seraph's  wing, — 

How  boldly  she  can  brave  death's  tyrant  sting? 

Thus  the  poor  girl's  enthusiastic  mind 

Revels  in  hope  of  blessings  imdefin'd, 

E-oams  o'er  the  flow'rs  of  earth,  the  joys  of  sense, 

And  frames  her  paradise  of  glory  thence : 

1  Kalaisa,  the  Indian  heaven.    Kinnura,  the  heavenly  singer. 


208  THE    SUTTEES. 

For  oft  as  memory's  retrospective  eye 
Glanc'd  at  the  blighted  joys  of  days  gone  by, 
How  sadly  sweet  appear' d  those  smiling  hours 
When   hope   had   strew' d   life's   thorny   path   with 

flow'rs, 
How  dark,  and  shadow' d  o'er  with  fearful  gloom, 
The  unimagined  horrors  of  the  tomb  ! 
When  she  remembered  all  her  joy  and  pain, 
And  in  a  moment  liv'd  her  life  again, 
Each  sorrow  seem'd  to  smile,  that  frown' d  before, — 
Her  cup  of  blessing  then  was  running  o'er,  — 
Days  past  in  grief,  beam'd  now  in  hues  of  bliss, 
Fancy  gilt  them,  —  but  terror  clouded  this  ! 
Yet  swift  her  spirit,  resolutely  proud, 
Scorn'd  every  hope,  by  mercy  disallow'd : 
The  priests  have  long  invok'd  their  idol  god, 
The  murd'rous  pile,  his  altar,  thirsts  for  blood,  — 
A  horrid  silence  summons  to  the  grave, 
All  wait  for  her, —  and  none  stands  forth  to  save, 
O  shall  she  tremble  now,  nor  die  the  same, — 
Shall  she  not  fearless  rush  into  the  flame? 
From  her  dark  eye  she  strikes  the  rising  tear, 
And  firmly  mounts  the  pile  —  a  widow's  bier. 


THE    SUTTEES.  209 

Instant,  with  furious  zeal  and  willing  hands, 
Attendant  Brahmins  ply  the  ready  brands  ; 
And  as  the  flames  are  raging  fierce  and  high, 
And  mount  in  rushing  columns  to  the  sky, 
Lest  those  wild  shrieks,  or  pity's  soft  appeal 
Should  rouse  one  hand  to  save,  one  heart  to  feel,1 
Madly  exulting  in  their  victim's  doom 
They  heap  with  fiendish  haste  her  fiery  tomb,  — 
Clash  the  loud  cymbals,  wake  the  trumpet's  note, 
Roll  the  deep  drum,  and  raise  the  deafening  shout, 
Till  in  dread  discord  through  the  startled  air 
Rise  the  mixt  yells  of  triumph  and  despair ! 

Britain,  whose  pitying  hand  is  stretch' d  to  save 
From  despot's  iron  chain  the  writhing  slave ; 
Where  freedom's  sons,  at  wild  oppression's  shriek, 
Feel  the  hot  tear  bedew  the  manly  cheek, — 
Where  the  kind  sympathies  of  social  life 
Sweeten  the  cup  to  one  no  more  a  wife, 

1  For  a  description  of  a  Suttee,  see  Capt.  Marr,  as  above,  p.  243. 
18* 


210  THE    SUTTEES. 

Where  mis'ry  never  pray'd  nor  sigh'cl  in  vain, — 
Shall  India's  widow' d  daughters  bleed  again? 
Let  wreaths  more  glorious  deck  Britannia's  head 
Than  theirs,  who  fiercely  fought,  or  nobly  bled, 
Wreaths  such  as  happy  spirits  wear  above, 
Gemm'd  with  the  tears  of  gratitude  and  love, 
Where  palm  and  olive,  twin'cl  with  almond  bloom, 
Tell  of  triumphant  peace  and  mercy's  rich  perfume 
And  ye,  whose  young  and  kindling  hearts  can  feel 
The  prayer  of  pity  fan  the  flame  of  zeal, 
Trace  the  blest  path  illustrious  Heber  trod, 
And  lead  the  poor  idolator  to  God ! 
Thus,  in  that  happy  land,  where  nature's  voice 
Sings  at  her  toil,  and  bids  the  world  rejoice, 
No  guiltless  blood  her  paradise  shall  stain, 
No  demon  rites  her  holy  courts  profane, 
No  howl  of  superstition  rend  the  air, 
No  widow's  cry,  no  orphan's  tear,  be  there,  — 
India  shall  cast  her  idol  gods  away, 
And  bless  the  promise  of  undying  day. 


211 


A    CARMEN    S,ECULARE  FOR  CHRISTIAN 

ENGLAND. 


ON  THE  PATTERN  AND  IN  THE  METRE  OF  THAT  FOR 
HEATHEN  ROME  BY  HORACE. 


Holy  Creator,  ruler  of  the  kingdoms, 
Glory  of  earth  and  heaven,  the  Almighty, 
Thou  to  be  prais'd  and  worshipp'd  never  ceasing, 

Hear  us,  Jehovah ! 

While  as  in  days  of  innocence  aforetime 
"VVe  with  the  choral  voice  of  supplication 
Cry  to  the  one  great  Spirit  who  beholds  us, 

Save,  we  beseech  Thee! 

May  the  bright  sun,  thy  day-bestowing  servant, 
And  at  whose  settimr  blushes  modest  even, 
Still  as  he  beams  successive  o'er  the  nations, 

Favour  old  England : 


212  A    CARMEN    SiECULARE 

Kindly  may  nature,  providence  approving, 
Bless  our  homes  with  increase,  and  the  matrons 
Gently  relieving,  give  us  noble  sons  and 

Virtuous  daughters. 

Rivet  the  golden  links  of  happy  wedlock, 
And  be  the  social  sympathies  unbroken, 
While  on  her  lord  the  wedded  wife  depending, 

Smiles  for  him  only. 

Still  against  sect  and  heresy  protesting, 
Nursing  her  babes  with  motherly  affection, 
Loving  to  all,  and  tender,  may  the  Church  be 

Faithful  and  holy : 

And  if  Omniscience,  never  to  be  alter' d 
In  its  decrees,  be  destiny  presiding, 
May  Britain,  by  that  destiny  protected, 

Prosper  in  greatness. 

Pour  on  us  kindly  seasons,  that  abundant 
Be  the  rich  fruits  of  mother  earth,  and  healthy 
Still  be  the  gales  that  waft  us  o'er  the  ocean 

Conquerors  ever! 


FOR    CHRISTIAN    ENGLAND.  213 

Hear  us,  Redeemer,  hear  us,  ever-blessed  ! 
Hear,  thou  that  dwellest  infinite  in  splendour, 
Hear,  thou  that  always  lovest  to  be  gracious, 

Rise  and  be  with  us  ! 

If  yet  thou  smilest  favouring  on  England, 
If  yet  the  rose,  the  thistle,  and  the  shamrock, 
Form  a  sweet  garland  offer' d  on  thine  altar, 

Keep  us  united. 

Let  not  the  thief,  or  murderer  infest  us, 
Let  not  the  base  incendiary  be  near  us, 
Let  not  the  foul  adulterer  pollute  us,  — 

Spare  us  from  evil : 

Bring  up  the  youth  in  modesty  and  virtue, 
Grant  to  old  age  tranquillity  and  wisdom, 
Give  the  glad  sons  of  Britain  health  and  honour, 

Greatness  and  plenty. 

May  British  mercy  more  than  British  valor 
Gain  from  the  world  its  laurel  and  its  olive, 
Till  over  all  her  enemies  triumphant 

Glories  Britannia ! 


214  A    CARMEN    S^ECULARE 

Help  her  to  rule  her  own  rebellious  children, 
That  the  wide  West  may  honour  and  uphold  her, 
Aid  her  to  spread  the  banner  of  protection 

Over  her  conquests : 

Save  from  intestine  murmurings  and  discord, 
Criminal  sloth,  and  infidel  compliance, 
Scatter  the  curse  of  national  rejection 

Brooding  above  us  : 

Let  open  faith,  integrity,  and  firmness, 
Primitive  truth,  and  piety,  and  prudence, 
Loyal  content,  and  patriotic  virtue, 

Quickly  returning, 

Crown  us  with  blessings,  though  we  be  unworthy, 
Fill  us  with  mercies  forfeited,  and  rescue 
From  bitter  hate  and  scorn  among  the  Gentiles 

Protestant  Zion. 

Friend  of  the  needy,  pity  and  relieve  them : 
Prosper  our  arts,  and  sciences,  and  commerce  ; 
All  that  can  bless  and  beautify  a  nation, 

Ever  be  Britain's  ! 


FOR    CHRISTIAN    ENGLAND.  215 

Long  as  the  world  rejoices  in  thy  favour, 
Holding  it  up,  Omnipotent, — let  England, 
Let  Caledonia,  with  her  sister  Erin, 

Queen  of  the  nations, 

Reign,  and  be  strong,  acknowledging  thy  mercy  ; 
Hear  us  in  choral  voice  of  supplication, 
"Who  now  invoke  thy  succour  and  thy  blessing, 

Father  Almighty ! 

Yes,  we  accept  the  promise  of  thine  answer, 
Yes,  we  depend  on  pity  for  protection, 
And  upon  God  our  confidence  reposes, 

Through  the  Redeemer. 


216 


CONCLUSION. 

Alas  !  poor  muse,  thy  songs  are  out  of  time, 

Thy  lot  hath  fallen  on  an  iron  age, 

When  unrelenting  war  the  sordid  wage 
Against  thee,  —  counting  it  no  venial  crime 

To  fling  down  in  thy  cause  the  champion's  gage, 
And  utterly  scorning  him,  who  dares  to  rhyme : 

O  that  thy  thoughts  had  filled  an  earlier  page, 
And  won  the  favouring  ears  of  holier  men ! 
Whose  spirits  might  with  thee  have  soar'd  sublime 
Far  above  selfish  Mammon's  crowded  den : 
Thou  hadst  been  more  at  home,  and  happier  then : 
Yet  be  thou  of  good  courage  ;  there  are  still 
Those  "left  sev'n  thousand,"  whose  affections  will 
Yearn  on  thy  little  good,  and  pardon  thy  much  ill. 


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